Recognition
by Living with Edward
Summary: One absolute law governs all vampires: Keep the secret. When a gorgeous stranger looks at vampire Bella with recognition, he becomes a liability she must handle. In protecting herself, she finds more than just a human who knows of her world.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all! I've been dying to post this, but had to wait for the Truly Anon Contest to post the winners before I could share it with you. This story won Best Happily Ever After in the AU category. I have been asked if I plan to continue the story, and the answer is YES! I'm in love with it and it keeps me awake sometimes. I very excited to get it all out.**

**For those of you reading The Real Death of Edward Masen, it's not abandoned. I will continue it. RL has not been giving me much time to get my head on straight, let alone write, but I hope to have it updated soon.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**Thanks to ChloeCougar and LoriAnnTwifan for being awesome betas!  
><strong>

Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters. I own a Be Safe decal on my car window.

* * *

><p>Finally, a cloudy day. It's not like they're rare in the city of Port Angeles, but five straight days of sun is absolutely ridiculous. Well, maybe not so much ridiculous—as annoying. I love the sun; I truly do. However, my skin disorder has now made the sun's presence a happy inconvenience. That's right, I suffer from Sparkle Syndrome.<p>

Symptoms of Sparkle Syndrome include—but are not limited to—physical strength that can only be challenged by The Hulk, a displaced need for oxygen, a running speed rivaled by Nascar, blood-red, albino eyes, and pale white, albino skin equipped with built-in light refractors that are only activated by the sun—and tanning booths. I checked.

The first time I diagnosed myself with this disease was five years ago. I woke up, half naked, in the middle of a forest. I had no idea where I was and remembered very little. The only information I retained at the time was my name. I knew my name was Bella.

It was at that point that I looked down and noticed my skin. It was hard to miss—not only because of the lacy bra and tiny shorts I was wearing, but also because of the thousands of bright sparkles bouncing off my body. I looked like I was in a damn Lady Gaga video. If I never heard the song Bad Romance ever again, it would be too soon. People sang that thing to themselves all day long like they think it's our nation's anthem. Perhaps it is; our country does have a very high divorce rate.

I chuckle to myself whenever I think of how I rubbed at my skin furiously, trying to shake off what had to be glitter stuck to it. After I was unsuccessful, I screamed and ran off.

I remember running and running until the most attractive aroma in the world led me to a random house. Instinctively, I burst right through the door, stopping only when my jaw was wrapped around a neck that was pouring hot, delicious blood into my mouth. Once the memory reached the point of dropping the old woman to the floor, my chuckling stopped. There is absolutely no joy to be had in knowing you killed somebody's grandmother.

I never thought the word delicious could be used to describe blood, but it was just that. Nothing compared. Food was repulsive—I could not even bear to swallow it. I should add that as another symptom of Sparkle Syndrome: food allergies.

I've been wandering the surrounding area ever since, learning to harbor control so I can at least interact with society. I don't want to live in the woods for eternity.

It didn't take me too long to develop enough control to resist the temptation to kill every human whose scent crossed my path—only eight months. I'm very stubborn, and when I want something, I do whatever I have to do to get it. I guess I'm pigheaded.

I'm even too pigheaded to use the term vampire most of the time. How ridiculous is it that I'm a vampire? They're not even supposed to exist. Until I come across a unicorn, I refuse to believe that I'm a mythical creature. Yes, I am aware that I'm using denial as a defense mechanism, but some things are hard to accept. I didn't choose this, and it's not fair that I have to be it.

Over time, some of my memories started to come back to me. I spent countless hours just thinking about any detail I could conjure up from my past, and the more effort I put into remembering, the more pictures I would see. I never recalled any emotions that should have accompanied the images. I didn't know how I felt about anything. For example, I remembered that my father was a cop and had a kick-ass mustache, but I didn't know if I liked him or hated him. Had he been a good father? I had no idea. I hoped he was good. He had kind eyes.

I remember a school with nondescript hallways and classrooms. The only two faces I see are of a blond-haired boy and a mousy brown-haired girl, but I don't remember their names or if we were friends.

Then I remember random details like purple bedding, countless trees, dreadlocks, an ugly truck, cactuses, long black hair, and countless other meaningless things. I have no clue where any of it belongs.

I'm trying to make sense of it all as I walk the streets to my favorite part of the city, which I happily call the buffet. It's a great place to choose a meal.

As I make my way on foot and round the corner of First Street, I spot my favorite restaurant. Yes, I have a favorite restaurant, and I can even honestly say that I have eaten there.

The first time I saw the little Italian place, two years ago, I knew I had to go in. I was drawn to the entrance as if I had no choice. I just loved the look of it. It has the cutest red door, and the interior is all beautiful oranges, reds, and golds. The lighting has an intimate feel without being too dark. The only thing that's ugly is the carpet. It just doesn't go with the décor.

I remember being asked if I was meeting someone there, and the hostess's sympathetic expression when I said no. My waitress was a cranky blonde who had way better things to do than wait on my pale ass. I hated her immediately.

I ordered the mushroom ravioli, only because it was the first entree that caught my eye, but regretted that decision when the meal was served. What was I thinking ordering mushrooms? They are a disgusting fungus. I may as well have just gone into somebody's bathroom and licked their shower wall.

As gross as the food was to taste, I reveled in the moment. I closed my eyes and pretended I was just a normal girl having lunch in a normal restaurant. I may have imagined a handsome boy sitting across from me telling me how much he adored me and wanted me to have his babies.

It's not an indulgence I often allow myself, but sometimes I need to feel that I'm me. I'm just Bella. A girl who likes to do normal things, like eat at quaint Italian restaurants and pretend to be on dates with the perfect man.

It angered me when the waitress brought me out of my daydream to rudely ask if I was finished, when she could clearly see that I still had almost all my food on my plate. I decided then what I really wanted for lunch. I paid my bill and left, only to return later that night for my real meal. For someone so bitter, her blood certainly tasted good. I left her body in the dumpster behind the building, because she wasn't even worth hiding. No one would miss her. She was a bitch.

I still don't know what draws me to Bella Italia. My name is Bella, so I'm probably Italian and would therefore have an affinity for the food. Or my ego is gigantic, and I think the restaurant has the perfect name.

I pass other establishments on my walk: the movie theater that I sneak into every week, the antique store that no one can afford to shop at, and the creepy Indian folklore bookshop with the owner who always glares at me for no reason when I walk by. I futilely check to see if he is glaring again this morning. Yes, he is. I smile and wave. I'm so the bigger person.

When I finally reach my destination, I take a seat on my favorite step in the city. This is how I hunt. I sit on this step to watch and listen to all of the people who pass me, then wait for one of them to strike my fancy. I don't really pick them. They more or less pick me.

I sit and wait for the people to start making their way around the city and look back over my shoulder to the other side of the brick walkway. There is a nice couple making their way across with their two small children. They're safe from me. It's obvious they are enjoying the morning and the walkway's distinct old world ambiance. It really is a quaint little spot with the short brick walls that line either side. It looks more like something you would see Oliver Twist running across rather than the pedestrians of the Pacific Northwest. Maybe that is why people use it so much—for its sense of fantasy and culture. Either that, or because of the convenience it provides in getting to the downtown area. Yeah, it's probably that.

I wait and wait for the people to start making their way here. I guess they are a little sluggish on this cloudy morning seeing as they have unnecessarily gotten used to the sun. I take a book from out of my bag to pass the time.

After about an hour, the crowd starts to move, so I put my book away and start my people watching. To be honest, I don't do it just for the hunt—I also find it very interesting. People are weird as hell. The sight that brings me the most entertainment is women with strollers. I don't get why they make them so big when babies are so tiny. Mothers always push them around like they own the damn sidewalk. They always walk too slowly with them, so you get stuck behind them when there are people coming in the opposite direction. And somehow they seem to know when you want to pass them because they start making their way to the side a bit, to cut you off. Then they give you the stink eye when you finally make it around. They're like the Mack trucks of the walking community.

I turn my head again just in time to see a stroller woman roll her eyes at a guy that had to basically do the Two-Step to avoid getting run over by her. Get over yourself, lady. Your baby is probably ugly anyway.

I'm laughing to myself when I then hear the music, and I look around at the people coming my way to spot who has the ear buds. I must find this person. Then I see her. She's bobbing her head, making the wires of her ear buds bounce around her chest, while humming along with the song that I detest more than anything. It's too early in the morning for Bad Romance, and someone needs to tell her that just because Lady Gaga draws her eyeliner all the way to her temples, doesn't mean _she_ should. Damn.

"I like your makeup," I compliment as she makes her way past me. She acknowledges me with only a smile and look of superiority. Yep, that's her. She's my meal today. Apparently being a haughty Little Monster is a crime punishable by death.

I'm about to get up to follow her when I spot a very attractive guy. I admit, part of my people-watching is also to check out hot guys. And boy, is this one hot. I think his cheekbones could cut steak. Women would build monuments in celebration of his perfect messy brown hair alone. Not to mention the altars required for his lips, jaw, shoulders, and deep green eyes. This guy is the total package. There is nothing on him that needs improvement. Nothing. I may have whimpered.

Seeing him is bittersweet. He's so much fun to look at, but that's all I can do. I could never have him. He is destined for someone with a heartbeat—someone who is in the same category in the food chain as him. Someone who couldn't rip off his dick during sex with one vaginal contraction. I haven't tested that theory, but I'm sure it can happen.

I'm going to have to go take out my anger on my Little Monster, but before I stand up, he spots me. His steps falter and his breathing picks up. The sound of his rapidly increasing heart rate is so loud, I'm surprised I'm the only one who can hear it. He slowly continues walking in my direction while blatantly staring at me with wide eyes. Could he seriously be that attracted to me? I like the thought of that.

As he gets closer, I realize that it's not attraction that his looks are conveying.

At first, confusion passes across his perfect features, and then fear. Lastly, his face identifies the one thing a vampire never wants a human to be able to express. Recognition. He knows about me. He knows what I am. Well, I guess that explains the fear.

How could he know? He must have encountered our kind before, which confuses me as to why he would have been allowed to live. It must have been a sloppy vampire, or they just didn't know the rules yet. I didn't know them until last year, when I finally came across two nomads who clued me in to our governing royals.

James and Victoria were a skeezy pair. James had asked me to join them in their travels, which made Vickie fly off the handle. I guess she was privy to the time he hit on me. They left town that day, thankfully. James was just gross.

Holding his breath, Hot Guy passes me, trying to hide his conspicuous staring. He is unsuccessful. After he passes, his breath comes back in pants, and his pace increases. He frantically mumbles to himself about how this is impossible and he's gone crazy. I turn my head over my shoulder and watch him speed-walk his way down the path.

I can't let him get away from me. I have to know what he knows, and I probably have to kill him. The thought makes me feel sick. He's just too pretty. My mind quickly tries to convince me that, if I'm going to kill him anyway, I may as well try and have some fun with him. A guy like that just can't go to waste.

No, Bella. That's bad and a little creepy, but he's so pretty. I want to whine and cry about this. However, if I want to follow him and interrogate him, I have to keep my head in the game.

I stand and start to make my way in his direction, thinking about how my original meal choice is going to live to put her paws up another day.

Hot Guy looks back over his shoulder to the spot where I was sitting and sees that it's now vacant. Confusion clouds his features again. He's second-guessing himself, wondering if he really saw what he thinks he saw, and has a look of lament as he realizes he may have imagined it. He wanted to encounter a vampire? How strange. Perhaps he craves Sparkle Syndrome. If he does, he's a moron.

I follow him a safe enough distance away to go unnoticed. He keeps his hands in his pockets and his head down for five blocks until he reaches a building that I assume is where he lives. It's a very nice building. I killed someone here before. The apartments are huge and very nice. Hot Guy has got some money.

I run around to the other side of the building and let myself in a window in one of the hallways on the first floor, and then I run towards the lobby, and see him press the button for the elevator. Deciding to find his apartment by his scent, I head for the stairs and make my way up to the next floor, running through the hallway inhaling the scents coming through the apartment doors. It's not until I reach the third floor that I find his place at the end of the hall. I take a moment to savor the smell, anticipating what it will taste like when I drink Hot Guy's blood. It's going to be very good.

I hear the ding of the elevator arriving and hop out the window that's at the end of the hall. Thankfully, the next window over goes right into Hot Guy's apartment.

I crawl inside and make my way to a place where I won't be seen. When I'm successfully hidden, I take a moment to look around. This place is nice...real nice. Beautiful hardwood floors look like they extend to every room. There are large windows, with billowy sheer curtains, adorning off-white walls. But the furniture is placed randomly, and half-unpacked boxes litter the floors. It's obvious he just moved in.

I hear his key in the lock and shift my attention to the source of the sound. He quickly bursts inside, closing the door behind him and locking it. Ha. Like that will keep me out; I'm already inside. It's a shame that someone so pretty, who knows about vampires, is not very smart about them.

Hot Guy presses his back against the door with a large exhale. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the door, and I allow him his moment of peace to recuperate before starting his interrogation.

I give myself a moment to ogle him as he does this. His open wool coat is falling away from his body, revealing a fitted shirt that does great things for his chest. Long sculpted legs are clad in slim cut, worn denim that leads down to a worn out pair of black Chucks. I smile slightly as I look down at my own worn out black Chucks. I don't know what I'm so giddy about. Almost everyone wears them.

The sound of a deep inhale brings my attention back to the man before me. His intake of breath brings my eyes back to his chest, which is pushing against the fabric of his shirt and showing the defining lines of his body. Maybe I could play with him just a little bit. Seducing him shouldn't be that hard.

Head in the game, Bella!

His throat bobbing with a swallow alerts me that he is going to open his eyes very soon. I leave my hiding spot and stand about six feet in front of him before his eyes open to me.

"How do you know?" I demand as his eyes meet mine.

Hot Guy just about jumps out of his skin. He loses his footing and falls flat on his face.

"Oh my god! Are you okay?" I panic as I try to help him up, because, you know, that's really vampire-like. Hot Guy already has me wrapped around his finger, and I don't have my answers yet. This is not good.

As I'm bent down next to him, he starts to pull himself off the ground when my favorite aroma in the world assaults me. Hot Guy turns his head toward me and again meets my gaze. I see the small red stream seeping from his nose.

"Shit!" I race toward the living room, out of his line of vision, and place both my hands over my mouth and nose. I'm holding my breath and my control as if my life depends on it. I lean against the side of his fireplace, not allowing myself to move—I don't trust myself at the moment.

Eventually, I hear Hot Guy get up and start the kitchen faucet. He must be cleaning himself up. Good. The quicker, the better.

I stand, staring at the entryway to the living room, waiting for him to make his way into the room, but he never comes. He isn't doing anything.

I creep up to the entryway to see him still standing in front of the sink. His hands are holding himself up as he leans into the counter with his head down. I can see the small tremors in his arms, giving away his less than stable mental state at the moment. I would be shaking too if I'd just had the crap scared out of me by a vampire, even if they did offer to help me up.

After a minute, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He turns around as he hits a couple buttons, again leaning on the counter, and puts the phone to his ear. I retreat back to my spot next to the fireplace keeping my eyes on the entryway in case he decides to mosey on in here.

I listen along with him as the phone he's trying to reach rings and rings until the call goes to voicemail.

"_You've reached the phone of the veritable mack daddy of everything, Emmett Cullen," _the message starts_._

Cullen. Cullen. Something seems significant about that name. I don't recall an Emmett Cullen and have no mental picture to place with the name, but Cullen sounds like I may have heard it before. It has to be from my human life seeing as I have no tangible memory of it. I wonder if I knew this Emmett Cullen at one time.

"_I'm sorry I can't take your call. Leave your name, number, and reason for requiring my awesomeness after the beep." _The message ends, and Hot Guy is able to release an annoyed sigh before hearing the beep.

"Hey Emmett, it's me," Hot Guy starts. "Uh...listen...I need you. I don't know what happened. I thought I was doing better, but I'm seeing things. They look real and sound real. I think I'm losing it again."

Okay, this has me intrigued. He thinks I'm a figment of his imagination. His obviously damaged imagination, since it's happening again.

"Alright, I'm not being completely honest," he continues. "I'm not seeing things, I'm seeing…people." He pauses to take a breath. "I'm seeing _her_. First it was on the street, then in my apartment. She talked to me. It seemed so real. Then in an instant she was gone, and I…I don't...look, can you just come over? Don't tell Mom and Dad, or Alice. They'll worry too much. I just want to talk it out first. And bring liquor. Oh, and since when do you know the meaning of the word veritable?"

The sound of the phone hitting the counter is followed by the refrigerator door opening and the sounds of Hot Guy rummaging through its contents.

I'm stunned into silence. I have no idea what's going on, and as I try to make sense of the words I've just heard, I come up with nothing.

I hear the refrigerator door close and a bottle being opened. Hot Guy takes a long swig of whatever he's drinking. I slowly start to breathe again and find that the smell of blood is gone. The scent of beer is now starting to permeate the air.

A chair scuffing on the kitchen floor tells me Hot Guy is now sitting at his table. I can hear him spinning his bottle cap across the surface.

I remember when, not long ago, Hot Guy was the one who looked confused. Now it's me that is covered in confusion. I saw the look on his face—I saw the fear there. He has to know what I am. What else could he be afraid of when seeing me?

But if he knows, he wouldn't have called somebody to tell them that he's imagining girls all over town. He would have said, "Hey, there's a vampire in my apartment. Tell my family I love them." But that's not what he did. He invited someone else over. Maybe he's going to offer me what sounds like his brother in exchange for his own life. Somehow, I doubt that.

Then I remember how fear and confusion weren't the only things he displayed before. Recognition. He recognized me. I thought he just recognized what I was, but he told Emmett that he saw _her._ Do I look like _her?_ I must do, because he apparently thinks that's who I am.

Maybe I should just leave and not cause him any more trouble. He really seems like he may have had enough emotional turmoil in his life.

And it would be really mean to kill him when he left a message like that for his brother. His brother would be here soon and find his body, thinking he'd committed suicide. Considering the fact that Hot Guy is losing it again, as he said, it's probably not a far stretch.

As I contemplate what I'm going to do, I distract myself by looking at Hot Guy's belongings. There is a couch and a love seat still wrapped in plastic, so I figure they must be brand new. A rolled up rug leans against the wall in the corner waiting to be laid out. There is a book shelf that is half filled and two boxes marked 'books' sitting in front of it. I squint to see what he's reading. Most of what is shelved seems to be medical journals and text books. He's a smarty pants, I see.

My eyes drift to the mantle of the fireplace I'm standing next to. He has a few pictures already put up, and I see one of him with four other people. The picture screams f_amily photo_ with the poses everyone is in. I'm going to guess the large dark-haired guy next to him is Emmett. His family is beautiful—all of them perfect, just like him.

The next picture is of a soccer team wearing navy and gold uniforms, and the middle two boys holding a sign that says Forks High. I wrinkle my noise at that piece of information. I passed through the small town of Forks once. I'll never go back there. It smells atrocious, like a dirty wet animal. I spot Hot Guy right away. He has the same exact hair. He must have been quite the ladies man in high school.

The last picture almost makes me fall over. If I were human, I would faint. Hot Guy has the happiest look on his face, his smile so beautiful. He is sitting on a large rock in a forest, and he has his arms wrapped around a young girl with long, dark hair and big, brown eyes. The expression on her face is just as happy. At the bottom of the picture, someone has added in elegant script "Bella and Edward 2006".

Am I being Punked?

I stare at the picture for an immeasurable amount of time, but no matter how I turn the picture or how much I shake it, it's still my face that is staring back at me. It mocks me with a happiness that I have no recollection of ever feeling. I can see the differences that my change has made to my face, but there is no denying that this is me, while I was human.

Hot Guy has a picture of me. Hot Guy has a picture of us together. We were together. The recognition he showed on his face earlier wasn't because he knows what I am, but because he knows _who_ I am. He knows me. He misses me. He keeps my picture on his mantle. I'm _her_.

The revelation has me breathing quickly and feeling emotions I didn't know I had. I need answers. I need to know what he knows so that I can finally know who I am.

Taking the picture with me, I go back to the kitchen. Hot Guy's back is to me as he sits at the table. I guess I should start calling him Edward, so I do just that.

"Edward?" I call softly.

Startled, he jumps again and falls out of his chair. I hope he doesn't bleed again—I really want to stay in the room this time.

I kneel beside him again on the floor to help him up. When his eyes land on me, he rears away from me quickly until he backs up against the table and hits his head.

"Ow! What the fuck?" He rubs the spot on the back of his head with his eyes closed. When he reopens them and sees that I'm still in front of him, he starts to panic.

"You're not real. There's no way," he breathes out.

"I'm as real as you are," I answer back softly. I don't want to startle him again. He's apparently skittish.

"No, you're not. Impossible." He sounds a bit surer of his words this time.

"Yes, I am."

"No! You're not fucking real!" he yells at me.

"Then why the hell are you talking to me?" I yell back. For that he has no answer. He only stares at me.

"I need you to tell me about this picture." I hold up the frame in my hand.

Edward looks between the picture and my face a few times before saying anything. "Uh, that was taken a week before graduation, a week before…," he trails off with a far away look on his face.

"Before what?" I ask.

The expression on his face when I ask that question is hurt, and maybe a little angry. "Before you…How are you even here? Are you a ghost, or have I finally gone crazy?"

"A ghost? Why would I be a ghost?" I wonder if it's because my skin is so pale.

Edward looks at me like I'm missing something very crucial. Then _I_ have a moment of recognition.

"Oooh. You think I died." I point out as if it were a trivial fact. That makes Edward a tad angry.

"_Think_ you died?" he asks angrily. "You think that I only _think_ you died? Is this a sick joke you're playing?" His voice starts to break, and I can see tears start to well up in his eyes. He is obviously hurting, and I don't want to hurt him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I honestly don't remember. I have no memory of anything that happened in my life before the summer of two thousand six," I tell him.

"You don't remember anything?" he asks, sadness inflecting his tone.

"Some things. Only glimpses here and there. I remembered my name. That's about it."

"So, you really are here in my kitchen? I'm not imagining this? You're not a ghost?"

"Yes, I'm really here. If I was a ghost, would I be able to do this?" I pull the picture I'm still holding in front of me and move it around in circles, which makes me feel kind of stupid.

"Um, I really don't know. They can in some movies, but I don't think that's really an accurate guide to use," he answers back.

"No, it's not. You can't believe everything in the movies." I know that first hand. "Do you want to get up off the floor? You don't look very comfortable."

"Um, yeah. We can go in the living room and talk if you want," he offers coolly. I think he's in shock. We both stand from our places on the floor, and I follow him to the couch as he finally takes off his coat, revealing his grey t-shirt. He pauses when he sees the thick plastic still covering the furniture. Wrapping his hands around the plastic, he tries to rip it apart to clear a place for us to sit comfortably, but it's not easily ripped by a human's bare hands. I hide my smile at his struggling, not wanting to emasculate him at all. He may not have it ripped off, but he is doing some damage.

"Here, allow me," I interrupt as I hand him the picture. My fingers easily slide through the plastic, and I quickly tear it open, ripping the whole piece from the couch. I make quick work of rolling it up and tossing it aside.

Edward stares at me wide-eyed again, so I just shrug and say, "You just have to find the weak spot in the plastic." He doesn't need to know that the whole piece was the weak spot for me.

We both sit on the couch facing one another, each of us folding a leg beneath us. I extend my hand out to him—silently asking for the picture back. He willingly hands it to me and watches as I inspect it further. My eyes were so pretty. I wish they were still that color. I catch my reflection in the glass to see what they look like today. Since it's been a little over a week since I've fed, the red has dulled, giving way to the darkness that encompasses them when I get thirsty. They look a bit brownish. I hope that's enough for him not to notice.

"Are you wearing contacts?" he blurts out. Well, shit.

"No," I answer simply.

"Your eyes look different."

"I was just noticing that," I say, holding up the picture slightly.

"You didn't notice before?"

"I had no memory of the color they were before, so there was nothing for me to notice."

"Oh." He looks a little disappointed at that. "Bella, do you remember me?" he asks with an almost unreadable expression. I can tell, though, that he is desperate for me to say yes.

I look him in the eyes and subtly shake my head. I see his face fall as he tries to hold himself together, not wanting the tears that are brimming to spill over onto his cheeks. It's obvious that he's still in mourning, so I let him have his moment to compose himself.

I take that moment to examine the picture more. We both look so happy. I was happy. I had a wonderful boyfriend who might even still love me. I look to Edward again, seeing him try not to break down, and I feel like I want to cry, too. We both lost something. I was just luckier, being the one who never knew it. I guess ignorance really _is_ bliss.

"We were happy, weren't we?" I ask, not able to stall the questions any longer.

He looks at me with a sad smile on his face and nods. "We shared the kind of love most people only dream of finding," he answers.

Wow. That's a heavy statement. I don't know what to say to that. I don't doubt what he says is true—the picture says the same thing.

"You really grew up," I offer, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"Yeah, I filled out," he says with a chuckle. I smile at him.

"You look good," I compliment.

"You look amazing," he answers back, and I smile again. "You look the same, but different. I can't place exactly what it is. But you look like you haven't aged at all. I can tell that you need more sun, though."

That causes me to laugh. "Do you have any more pictures I can see?" I ask, hoping he has something that can maybe spark some memories for me.

"Yeah, I do." He goes over to the boxes marked 'books' and starts digging through them. He pulls out a photo album and another book and brings them over. He hands me the book.

"What's this?" I ask.

"That's our yearbook." Oh. Duh.

I open it and start paging through the pictures. I see a few that I'm in, and in almost all of them, I'm with Edward.

"I was prom queen?" I ask disbelievingly.

Edward barks out a laugh. "Yes, you were prom queen, and you were just as baffled then as you are now. You thought Jessica was going to win by a landslide, but it was the other way around."

I have no idea who Jessica is, but I don't say anything. I keep paging through until I land on a photo with the blond-haired boy and mousy brown-haired girl I remember.

"Who are they?" I ask excitedly.

"That's Mike Newton and Jessica Stanley. They lost to us at the prom. Do you remember them?" he asks.

"I remember their faces, but that's all. I didn't know where I remembered them from. Was I friends with them?"

"More or less. Sometimes more. Sometimes less."

"Was it me that was fickle, or them?"

"Oh, definitely them. You always gave them chance after chance to redeem themselves every time they screwed things up with you. You were always too forgiving of them, in my opinion," he explains.

"What would they do to screw it up?" I wonder aloud.

"Well, Jessica would try to steal your boyfriend, and Mike would try to steal you."

"And we never ended up on Jerry Springer? I guess that constitutes a successful friendship."

Edward laughs. Our walk down memory lane seems to have distracted him from breaking down.

"You were voted most likely to succeed," I state with an air of pride in my voice. Yes, I'm proud of the boyfriend I didn't know I had. He nods to confirm my statement.

"And it also says," I start again, looking back to the page, "that you were most likely to break women's hearts with your panty-dropping smile."

"What?" he asks, grabbing the book from my hand to see for himself. "It doesn't say that."

"I know," I state, laughing, and he joins in.

"For someone who doesn't remember who they are, you sure are exactly the same person," Edward points out.

"Really?"

"Yep. You haven't changed at all."

His statement gives me comfort. I'm glad to know that being changed into a vampire hasn't made me lose myself. Maybe I am a normal girl, after all. A normal girl who drinks blood. That's not very normal.

I turn a few more pages, examining all the people I don't recognize. I come across a picture of me with the same small, dark-haired girl in the photo of Edward's family on the mantle.

"Is this your sister?"

"Yes. Alice. She was your best friend." I hear the sadness return in his tone, so I offer him a small smile. Then I come across a picture of a platinum blonde girl that makes my eyes widen and my breath stutter.

"Who is that?" I choke out.

Edward leans in to see who I'm pointing at. "Ugh. That would be Lauren Mallory. You recognize her?"

"Were we friends?" I ask, scared to know the answer.

Edward snorts in response. "Not at all. You hated her, and that was a lot coming from you. You didn't normally hate anyone." I relax at his answer, feeling relieved. "She was a total bitch. No one liked her, but it was sad what happened to her."

Oh my God, he knows.

"What exactly was that?" I was dying to know what he knew.

"Um, about three years ago, she was in a car accident while away at college. She had a lot of head trauma, and she lost a lot of memories. It was a shame because she was trying to break out in the movie business and had even landed a small role in a major film, but the accident was before filming, so she couldn't do it."

Hmm, maybe he didn't know. "That's a shame." I add sympathetically.

"That's not all."

Damn.

"She was working here, in Port Angeles, at Bella Italia two years ago. She was murdered, though. They found her body in the dumpster behind the restaurant. Apparently, she was brutally killed. Her body was maimed pretty badly. They never found the killer."

I'm floored that I killed one of my classmates. Thankfully, she was not a friend. I don't know how well I would handle knowing something like that. I decide I don't want to look at the yearbook anymore, just in case I come across any more familiar faces.

I set the book aside, but can't help but grab for the photo album. My curiosity is too strong. Edward props his elbow on the back of the couch, holding his head in his hand as he watches me peruse the pictures. The album is mostly filled with the two of us in almost every possible setting you can think of—it looks like we went everywhere together. I'm surprised by the number of photos there are of the two of us kissing—in almost all the photos we're touching in some way. I guess we couldn't keep our hands to ourselves. There are also sporadic pictures of us with his family or other friends from school; I don't remember any of them. One picture of me with a dark-haired man catches my eye.

"That's my dad!" I exclaim. I recognize the mustache and kind eyes. My eyes—I can now tell after seeing the pictures.

"You remember him?" Edward asks, also excited that I know who my father is.

"Some things I do. I know he's a cop."

"Yes, he is. He's the chief of Forks, actually."

"Was he nice?" I need to know.

"Very. He loved you so much." I smile at the knowledge. My father loved me. I like the way that makes me feel. "My family adored you, as well," Edward continues. "They were all heartbroken when…." He doesn't finish, so I guess it's time to address the elephant in the room.

"Edward, what happened to me?" I ask carefully, not knowing how he'll react.

Edward's eyes fall to his lap, and his heart rate increases. He takes a few breaths before he answers, "Uh…you were attacked by an animal." He's not looking at me, and his body twitches with noticeable tics that make me angry.

"You're lying," I accuse. Why would he lie about such a thing? What does he have to hide? I close the album that is still in my lap and set it on the floor. Edward continues to look down, but I can see a deep look of concentration on his face.

"What are you thinking about?" I demand.

He finally looks back at me, a little startled at the heated look on my face. "I just don't understand how you're here...how you could have survived," he answers and looks down to ponder again.

"Survived what?"

Edward gets that faraway look on his face again. His throat bobs with a swallow as he contemplates what to tell me.

"I saw him; I was there." He pauses to brace himself from whatever horrible memory he's reliving. "He practically tore your throat right out."

Holy. Crap. Edward was there. He saw me get attacked by the vampire who probably changed me. How did he make it out alive? Now I understand his reluctance to tell me. He probably thought I would think he was nuts, telling me about vampires. Ha. You'd be preaching to the choir, Edward.

"Can you please tell me everything that happened that day?" I plead.

Edward takes a deep breath before he starts. "It was the day of graduation. We had been so busy during the weeks prior, studying for exams and writing college admission essays. We had barely been able to spend any time together."

"We had one final exam that morning, and then we would have the rest of the day to ourselves before we had to go to graduation. It was a nice sunny day, and I wanted to do something special for you, so I packed lunch and a blanket and took you to our meadow."

"What's our meadow?" I ask, confused. He looks almost hurt as he answers. I have to stop doing that.

"It's one of our favorite places. There's a clearing that is about a mile into the woods behind my house, and it gets covered with wild flowers in the spring and summer. When we wanted to go on dates, we would usually go there, or to Bella Italia, where we had our first date. Both places were special to us."

Well that would explain why I was so drawn to that restaurant. I had already spent a lot of time there. I chuckle as I think about how I would pretend to be there with the perfect guy, now knowing that he had already accompanied me there.

"What?" he asks, wanting to be let in on what had made me smile.

"I love that place. I never knew why I liked going there so much during the past couple of years. I guess I know now." Edward smiles at my answer, probably happy that I have actually managed to keep a part of him somewhere deep inside of me, despite my lack of memories. "Continue, please," I coax, wanting the rest of the story.

"Right. Uh, so we had gone to the meadow and had our lunch and talked about everything we didn't get the chance to in the weeks prior. We mostly talked about the future. High school was over, and we were both scared as to what that would mean for us. We didn't know how we were going to survive if we went to different colleges."

"Shouldn't we have already known where we were going to go by that late in the year?"

"Yeah, technically. I had already gotten accepted to NYU—that's where I really wanted to go. We still hadn't heard from them concerning you, so we furiously tried to find any schools accepting late applications, that we could both apply to that could also accommodate our majors. You wanted to study literature, and I wanted to go pre-med."

"Damn, we had our work cut out for us."

"No kidding. It was so stressful. Anyway, we talked about our fears and made promises to each other that, no matter what happened to us, we would always be with each other. We would never let anything—not even distance—come between us. I actually asked you to marry me."

"You did what?" I ask incredulously. I'm sure my eyes are as big as bowling balls.

Edward chuckles before continuing. "It wasn't a grand proposal or anything. I was an seventeen-year-old kid. I had no ring. I asked it spontaneously, but I still meant it. You said yes." His voice drops to a low murmur.

"Wow," I state, almost in shock. I was engaged. It wasn't a formal engagement, but I did promise myself to him. "What happened next?" I ask, wanting him to continue.

Edward looks to his lap again with a shy look on his face. I notice his ears start to grow pink around the edges.

I quietly gasp when I realize what he's communicating without words. I had sex with Hot Guy? Holy hell! Go me! The only thing that could make that better would be remembering it.

"Did we have sex, Edward?" I lightly nudge his foot with my own as I tease him.

"We made love that day, yes," he clarifies as we both hold back laughter. Banter with him is easy and fun.

"Was that our first time?"

"God, no," he states, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I was just about eighteen and had the most beautiful girl in the world. I don't know how much control you think I had."

He thinks I'm the most beautiful girl in the world. I want to melt.

"I'm guessing that what happened next was where things started to go wrong?" I hedge.

"Pretty much. When we noticed the time, we knew we had to get back to the school, so we started getting dressed. You had just pulled on those little shorts you always wore to drive me crazy, when..," he pauses to collect himself again. I guess this is the part that has haunted him for the past five years.

"He came out of nowhere," he explains, still looking mystified at how it was possible.

"He? Who's he?"

"I don't know who he was. He had long, thick dreadlocks and red eyes; bright red eyes." That explains the images of the dreadlocks that my memory still holds onto. Edward continues. "But that wasn't the strangest thing about him. You're going to think I'm crazy, but his skin sparkled like there were thousands of little diamonds all over him. It was the weirdest thing I've ever seen.

"Neither of us had noticed him before; I had no clue how he got to you so fast. I was packing up our things when I heard you scream, and he already had you on the ground. I panicked and tried to pull him off of you, but he grabbed my neck and shoved me face first into the ground and held me there. He was so strong. I couldn't move, but I could still watch what was happening. You were screaming and trying to push him away. I remember hearing you begging me to help you, but I was completely powerless."

This is obviously difficult for him to talk about—the stress of it is starting to wear on him. He takes a few deep breaths and wipes at his eyes before he continues.

"What happened next is a bit of a blur because it happened so fast, but I know what I saw. He bit you in the neck. Actually, he didn't just bite—he tore into you. I can't imagine the pain you felt; the screams you made were horrifying. Then he just stopped. He looked past me to the edge of the clearing with this look of panic on his face. Then he picked you up and ran the other way. Right before he disappeared into the trees, I caught a glimpse of two other people: a man and a woman. They all ran off together. That was the last time I saw you."

At that, I was confused. "Why did they run?"

"Something was after them," he replied a little nervously.

"What?"

"I'm not really supposed to say."

I plead at him with my eyes, and he sighs. "Wolves. Huge wolves."

Now that's news to me. "Why the hell would vampires run away from wolves, Edward?" I ask, almost as if he's mentally slow.

His face is stupefied. "How…why would you think they were vampires?" he stutters.

"Look at me, Edward. What do you think happened? You said you have no idea how I could have survived. Look at my neck." I pull my collar aside. "Do you see any scarring? If my neck was torn out, don't you think it would be disfigured? You noticed my eyes. They're red. They just appear darker now because I need to feed, and my skin sparkles in the sunlight just like the vampire you saw. He didn't kill me, he turned me."

Edward's face falls with the realization, and I can tell he's heartbroken by this knowledge. "I don't understand. They told me you were you dead."

"Who told you?"

"The wolves."

"Oh, so now they're talking wolves," I patronize. It just seems ridiculous to me.

Edward narrows his eyes. "They're not talking wolves. They're shape-shifters. The Quileute Indian tribe lives near Forks, and some of their young men shift into wolves to protect the tribe from vampires."

"You mean like werewolves?"

Edward nods. Now it makes more sense. I wonder if he's ever seen a unicorn, because he apparently knows more about the supernatural than I do.

"They found us, but unfortunately a moment too late. They killed the one who attacked you, but weren't able to catch the other two. They told me that they were the ones that ended up taking you, and that you were already dead."

It's strange hearing this story. I'm glad to know, but I also feel angry and cheated. It sounds like I had a lot to live for as a human.

"You were good friends with one of the shape-shifters." Edward brings me out of my self pity. "Do you remember Jake?"

Now that sounds familiar. I play around with the name in my head, finding that an image wants to go with the name.

"Did he have long black hair?" I ask, hoping that I have something else right.

Edward scoffs. "Him, you remember. Of course."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I'm actually a bit offended.

"Nothing. Forget it."

"How did you find out about all of this? Did the talking wolves let you in on all their secrets?"

I'm met with an eye roll. That, somehow, seems familiar.

"Yeah. They had to tell me everything and make sure I kept my mouth shut about all of it. We deemed your death an animal attack. I said it was a bear. I've never told anyone, not even my family. Carrying that secret while trying to grieve, and make sense of it all, made everything harder. Do you know how difficult it is to accept that the person you love most in the world was killed by something that isn't even supposed to exist? I was messed up for a long time."

Unconsciously, I reach for his hand to try to provide some form of comfort. He flinches slightly at the cold, alien feel of my skin on his, but doesn't pull away.

"I want you to tell me something," he says, changing the subject, obviously not comfortable talking about his messed-up phase. He absentmindedly links our fingers like it's the most natural thing in the world. "I want to know how you ended up in my apartment when you didn't know who I was."

I guess it's only fair to give him answers now.

"When you looked at me in the street, I thought you knew what I was. That kind of makes you a liability."

He pales when he realizes what I mean. "You were going to kill me," he states, and I only nod with an apologetic look on my face. "I still know what you are," he hedges, fishing for my motives.

"Don't worry; I'm not going to kill you. I came close with your nose bleed, though."

"That's why you disappeared?"

I nod in answer. "I'm able to control my urges, but I _am_ very thirsty, and you _do_ smell incredible. Just so you know," I tease him.

"I do?" he asks, surprised.

"Mm hmm," I confirm. "Like honey and lilac—sweet and fragrant."

Edward's brow furrows. "It's really strange having someone tell you what flavor you are. Everyone's different?"

"If you take the care to notice, then yes. You can taste the differences between people." What a weird conversation to have with a human.

"So you kill people?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

"It's the only way I can survive. Does it bother you?" I wonder how forgiving he is.

"Yes," he admits. However, the fact that he's still holding my hand doesn't go unnoticed. "But I'm more bothered by the fact that you have to. It pains me to know that you had to deal with everything alone—figuring out what you were. You must have been so scared." How sweet is he?

"It was scary at first, but I learned quickly. I didn't know of any other type of life to compare it to, so I didn't know what I was missing." I'm not particularly thrilled with my existence, but I don't want to him to feel bad.

"And do you know now?"

"I have a good idea."

Edward's grip on my hand loosens enough to move down to my fingers. He watches as he plays with them, and I delight in his warm touch, but I don't tell him.

"You feel so different," he observes.

"I am different."

"I guess so. It's strange, though, because even with how different you are, I can still feel that it's your hand I'm touching."

I scoff at that. My hand feels nothing like that of a human's. "I doubt that." And I burst his bubble. Again. Why do I keep doing that?

"You don't believe me?" he asks, and I shake my head. "Bella, I know you don't remember, but believe me when I say that I have spent countless hours memorizing everything about your body."

I have no words to respond to that, but, internally, I want to fist pump. He moves slightly closer to me.

"I could never mistake the feeling of your hands on my skin...the feather-light touches across my body. Not to say that you never got aggressive," he says with a smirk.

He's getting a bit too intense for me, but who am I to stop him? He obviously needs to get this all out as some form of healing. I'm not letting it go on because it's very exciting to hear him speak to me this way. Nope. Not at all. He moves closer still.

"I could never forget the shape of your cheek from the countless times I cradled your face in my hands. So soft, smooth, and perfect. You still look like porcelain. You have the softest hair I think anyone could ever have. The way it so easily fell through my fingers when I ran my hands through it was mesmerizing."

He reaches his hand out, as if to demonstrate. When his fingertips reach my hair, my eyes intently follow the view of his wrist coming closer to my face. Edward realizes his blunder when he notices my expression, which could only be described as animalistic longing. I hear the increase in the rate of his heartbeat as he pulls his hand away.

He ignores the situation and continues on as if nothing has happened. "And I'd be a damn fool if I ever forgot the shape of your lips and how they felt against mine. There is nothing in this world that feels more right—more complete—than your kiss. Nothing."

I suddenly want to know what he knows and feel what he feels. I want to have the memories of what we shared burned in my mind the way they're burned in his. I want it so badly. I wonder if he can refresh my memory.

As if reading my mind, he reaches for me again—this time cupping my neck and keeping the veins of his wrist under my chin. I try not to think about the pulse that is so close to my face. It's actually fairly easy, since there is something I want more.

His hand reaches further back until his fingers are buried in my hair and he's pulling me closer. He doesn't close his eyes. He's watching me carefully, probably scared that I could disappear from him at any moment.

His breathing is labored, and he's so close. I see his throat coming at me, but I try to ignore it. Can I kiss him without killing him? Can I put my mouth on him without giving in to the desire to bite? I doubt that I can, but I am going to try. And, if I fail…well, I don't even want to think about that.

The distance between us is about to be closed—I can almost taste him now.

Suddenly, a loud, raucous pounding at the door makes Edward jump back three feet with a startled curse falling from his lips. I sigh. It's probably better this way.

"Edward, why the fuck is the door locked? I have your liquor, asshole. Let me in!" Emmett yells from outside.

Edward catches his breath and apologizes. "Sorry, that's my brother, Emmett."

"He sounds nice," I offer, causing Edward to laugh.

"Yeah, he's a real gentleman, that one. I should probably let him in."

"Edward, seriously! You called me, remember?" Emmett continues.

Edward pleads with his eyes. "I don't want you to go."

I don't want to go either...now that I've found myself...found him. I don't want to be alone anymore, and there are still so many unanswered questions. Edward knows the answers to all of them, but more importantly, he is the answer to most of them. My instincts tell me to stay with him, to trust him. So that is what I do.

"Edward, how good is Emmett at keeping secrets?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, and welcome back. I've never written an 'Emmett' before, so I really enjoyed bringing him into the story. Hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters. I own some Twilight band-aids. I only use the ones with the wolf pack symbol, though. I don't mind if they get covered in blood. No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

><p>I want to laugh at Bella's question, but since she really doesn't remember, I don't want to hurt her feelings by doing so. I think the last time Emmett kept a secret was when he was in third grade and his best friend wet himself when he was accosted by a very large girl who wanted to use the swing he was on. However, the fact that I know this tidbit of information means that Emmett's secret keeping skills were crap even back then.<p>

It won't be long before my family finds out about Emmett's impromptu trip here today. Hopefully, I'll have a couple hours of peace before the phone calls from my mother and sister start.

"Horrible—," I answer,"—absolutely horrible. It's a shame you don't remember high school and the crazy made-u-u-ddp rumors we used to tell him that would make him look like an idiot when he spread them around. Those were some good times."

Bella's eyes light up at the information, just like they have at most everything else I've told her today.

"Really?" she asks with a giggle. "Like what? Tell me," she demands, wanting to be let in on the joke.

We're again interrupted by another round of adamant pounding on the door.

"Edward, I swear I'm going to rip this door off its hinges! You can't leave a message like that and leave me standing out here. You're freaking me out! I have my phone out, and I'm pulling up Mom's number…" Emmett says, trailing off.

My wide-e-eyed expression alerts Bella to the severity of Emmett's threat. "I'll hide," she states quickly, and is gone. My eyes dart everywhere in panic—she can't leave. _Please, God, don't let her leave._

"It's ok—I'm still here," Bella says softly from somewhere in the apartment.

Her statement sobers me enough to run to the door and throw it open. Emmett is on the other side holding some bags with one hand, while holding his cell phone in the other—his thumb hovering over the call button.

"What the hell are you doing? Don't call Mom," I say, chastising him.

"Well, you weren't answering the door," Emmett complains as he barges in, and I close the door behind him. "What was I supposed to think after you left a message like you did?" He asks the question with his eyes cast down to the floor and his voice in a lower register than his normal volume of loud.

Neither of us has to say the words that he was thinking.

"Sorry. I choke out. It's not the first time that I have to apologize to one of my family members for scaring them into thinking that I was going to take my own life. None of us want to revisit those times in my existence.

Emmett nods and changes the subject as he sets his bags on the table. "I brought food. I just assumed, 'cause, you know…" He pauses and opens my refrigerator door, inspecting the contents. "…your limited inventory. Let's see, we have Sam Adams, Guinness, Corona, and what the hell is this imported shit?" he asks, holding the offending bottle, reading the label.

"I don't know. I thought I would try it."

"And?"

"It's piss."

I'm met with a disapproving sigh as Emmett shakes his head at me. I roll my eyes, and Emmett goes back to the fridge, pulling out a container of lime wedges.

"Hey look, fruit! And here I thought you'd given up sustenance," he says, patronizing me.

"It's for the Corona, dip shit," I retort.

"No kidding? Who the hell taught you that? Shouldn't be calling me a dip shit," he mumbles as he puts the container back. "Seriously, there's like no food in here except for a half eaten sub, a bottle of ranch dressing, and this box of take-o-out from none other than Bella Italia." I know where he's going with this.

"You know there are other restaurants in Port Angeles, right?" he asks.

"Shut up." I don't want to hear this again.

"If there is mushroom ravioli in there, I'm giving you a noogie," Emmett threatens.

"Shut up—and don't." I then remember that Bella is actually here in my apartment. _Bella is here in my apartment!_ She can probably hear everything that is going on. I don't want her hear all of it this way—I should be the one to tell her about how messed up I was. Who am I kidding? I'm still pretty messed up, but not as bad as I used to be. I am getting better—at least, I think I am.

"Seriously, I'm looking in the box," he says like a child, his hand perched on the opening.

"Stop it." I warn, but I'm too late—the box is open, revealing its contents.

"Aw man, come on. Why do you even get this? Their mushroom ravioli is crap."

I don't answer him, but I do agree. The entrée isn't the best, but Bella always seemed to like it, unless she always got it for sentimental reasons. That would make more sense, given the flavor.

Emmett closes the fridge door and approaches me. "All right, let's go, time to pay up."

"What? No. You're insane," I tell him, but I'm ignored. He lunges for me and tries to grab me in a headlock, but I duck out of the attack and try to get away from him. My evasion is useless when he grabs me around my waist and pulls me back to him. He keeps one arm around my middle while the other makes its way around my neck.

"I didn't want to have to do this, but you gave me no choice," he teases.

Damn him and his ridiculously strong arms. His upper arms are probably the same size as my thighs. This moment makes me vow to spend more time at the gym.

Not wanting to let him win this little scuffle, I turn my head just enough to give my jaw access to his arm, and bite down as hard as I can before he releases me.

"Ow! You fucking bit me!" Emmett screeches in a high-p-itched voice while cradling his bitten arm.

I point at him authoritatively. "I am twenty-three years old, and you will not give me noogies. Are we clear?"

"I'm your older brother, and I will give you a noogie whenever I feel it is necessary!" he argues back.

At that we both crack smiles, unable to hold our angry banter any longer. This moment proves to me why I always call Emmett when I'm feeling like I can't handle my own mind any longer. He knows me better than anyone else in my family, and always says or does just the thing I need to feel 'normal' again.

Don't get me wrong. I love everyone in my family more than my own life, but when it comes to needing someone to balance the insanity that sometimes still takes place in my head, Emmett is the only person who can be successful.

If my sister, Alice, had been the one to come over today, she would have looked in my fridge and given me a look of despair and pity. She would have admonished me like a child, and would probably had shed a dramatic tear just to show me what kind of pain my behavior causes the family.

My mother would have observed the contents of the refrigerator with her hand flying to her mouth to cover her gasp of shock. She would have hugged me, told me how much she's worried about me, begged me to come live back at home, and used some sickly-s-weet term of endearment like honey, sweetie, sweetheart, or my least favorite—little bear. I really hate that one.

My father would have sighed at the sight of the desolate refrigerator. He would have gently closed the door, approached me, placing his hand on my shoulder and said "Son,"—he always starts with 'son'—"You need to take care of yourself. You can't be healthy here, if you are not healthy here." He would point to my head and then my abdomen. I always get very sound advice from the good doctor. He would then, most likely, grab one of the beers himself and go sit pensively on my couch, staring at all the unused medical text books, while mentally beating himself up for not being able to 'fix' me well enough after one of my mental breakdowns. He blames himself for my failed attempt at medical school.

I overheard him and Mom talking about it before. He thinks that if he could have found the right doctors for me, I could have been helped, but the problem wasn't the doctors. What good is going to a therapist if you can't be honest with them? I had to lie to each and every doctor he sent me to. All of them knew that I wasn't giving my all with the sessions. After a couple months they would go to Dad and tell him that I refused to open up and was unresponsive to treatments. My father would get angry at their lack of effort and drag me to someone else who would give him the same diagnosis.

This went on for a couple years until I couldn't take any more disappointing doctor visits, and I told my parents I was ready to try college. So off I went to NYU, who decided to hold my acceptance until I was ready due to my graduating with high honors and impressive recommendation letters from a few of Dad's friends. It didn't turn out well, though. Within the year I was forcibly returned home, institutionalized, and put on suicide watch. I was released after only two months; the doctors there deemed me not 'crazy' enough for twenty-four hour care, so back home I went to be a burden on my family.

It was only a month ago that I was able to convince my parents to let me move out on my own. They needed to stop coddling me, and until I was out of their care I wouldn't be free enough to deal with my own issues. They didn't know the truth about what happened, so turning to them for help was useless.

Still chuckling at my brother, I retrieve the 'piss beer' from the fridge, unscrew the top and take a swig. I slosh the liquid around my mouth a few times before spitting it in the sink.

"What are you doing?" Emmett asks.

"Washing the taste of ogre out of my mouth," I answer.

"With the piss beer?"

"It tastes better than you do."

"Ooh, burn," he teases again as he removes his hand from the bite wound. We're both surprised to see the amount of blood that has come out of it.

"Holy shit, look what you did!" he exclaims with accusation.

"I couldn't have bitten you that hard." _Did I really?_

"Apparently you did, genius." He pushes me out of the way of the sink and turns the water on to wash himself off. At the same time, I hear what sounds like a window opening in the hallway leading to my bedroom and bathroom. _Bella_.

"I'll be right back," I quickly tell my brother. I'm met with a grunt of acknowledgment.

I run to the hallway, praying that she is still here. I see her standing at the window, leaning out, taking large breaths. After a deep inhale, she turns to me.

"Edward, I can't do this. I'm too thirsty. First your nose bleed and now Emmett…I can't. I have to go," she whispers.

_No, no, no. Stay; I need you to stay_. She must notice the pathetic look of desperation on my face, because she is quick to reassure me.

"I just need to feed. I'll come back as soon as I'm done—I promise. I'll definitely hurt one of you if I stay. I won't be able to control it."

I try to take in the meaning of her words. _She will hurt either me or my brother_. Her eyes show me exactly what she is trying to explain. They are black as night and filled with a tortured longing. Through them, I can see both pain and desire. I see her throat bob with a swallow—the action appearing to cause her some kind of discomfort. In that moment, she looks nothing like the Bella that I know. I've never seen her look so…so…dangerous.

My heart rate picks up—along with my breaths. I'm filled with a nervousness that is making the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention while chills course up and down my spine. Something in the back of my mind tells me to run. I instinctively take a quivering step back, and her eyes focus about six inches below mine. She swallows again, and a strange rumbling sound accompanies the action. I'm convinced she can sense the changes that just took place in my body.

Her face is quickly drawn into a look of resolve, and some of her features soften slightly. She gently reaches her hand to my cheek and fingers the hair at my temple. I flinch slightly.

"I'm sorry. I'll be back," she promises again.

And then she is gone. I barely see the movement she takes to jump out of the window. I look down to the ground below and spot her running away just before she turns to disappear behind the corner of the building.

I lean against the wall to take a moment to calm the fear that overtook my body seconds ago, making me feel like I was being hunted. I also use the moment to try to understand what just happened.

Ever since Bella and I started talking, I have allowed myself to be wrapped in the idea that I had her back and she was finally mine again. Even after learning that she was a vampire, I just assumed that it wouldn't be a problem. Everything is right as long as I have my Bella.

But now, after experiencing Bella induce that kind of fear in me, I see just how different we really are as a species. I remember the things Jake and the others told me about vampires; she's not like me and I'm not like her.

I start to panic at the revelation. _Does that mean we can't be together? _

No. I will make it work—whatever I have to do. I won't let her get away from me again. I won't throw this opportunity away.

I hear Emmett unloading the grocery bags he's brought and make my way back to the kitchen. He looks at me warily as I unsteadily make my way into the room.

"Everything all right?" he asks with a look of concern.

"Yeah," I mutter.

"You sure?"

"Uh huh."

"Okay," he says disbelievingly. He knows I'm lying.

Emmett pulls some bread and a plastic container out of one of the bag and starts to put them in fridge.

"Mom had a lot of leftover turkey for sandwiches. She made it on Sunday," he tells me.

"Yeah, I remember. I was there."

"Ooh yeah, you were the guy sitting quietly in the corner ignoring everyone."

I'm actually a bit hurt by his judgment. I expect him to understand me better than that.

"It was _her_ birthday. You're lucky I came at all," I say quietly with a note of anger in my tone.

Mom always makes sure she can keep a close eye on me every time the thirteenth of September rolls around. Since this was the first year I wasn't living at home after my attempt at college, she made sure that I was at the house by using an irrefutable family dinner invitation. I didn't want to go, but no one can guilt me into doing something like my mother can.

"I see," Emmett replies curtly—still throwing groceries into the refrigerator and cabinets. Even though he is the best at helping to turn my foul moods, he's still not immune to them. I have surely hurt him more than enough.

The last item on the table is a tall, skinny paper bag—that would be the liquor. Holding my gaze, Emmett pulls out the bottle and roughly places it on the table, the sound of the bottle hitting the wood loud in the room. The quiet, condescending 'you're welcome' doesn't need to be said.

"I'm sorry," I mutter to him for the second time today.

"It's fine. I know it's still hard for you."

I take a deep breath and eye the bottle Emmett has brought with him.

"Southern Comfort?" I ask with shock.

"Well, yeah. You never left a message like that before. I assumed wine, or rum and coke, wouldn't quite cut it.

I cringe, r, remembering the last time Emmett got me Southern Comfort. "I said I wanted to talk, not pass out on the couch in my underwear singing Bon Jovi songs."

Emmett tries very gallantly to stifle his laugh with his hand, but his attempt ends in a barrage of spitting noises.

"I can't believe you can even remember that," he says between chuckles.

"I don't. I remember the video Jasper took on his phone," I say with my eyes narrowed at my brother.

That statement has Emmett laughing unabashedly now. I try to hold my scowl, but I eventually break, shaking my head in humorous disapproval of the actions of my sister's boyfriend.

Emmett grabs two glasses and pours out the whiskey. He fills one glass more generously than the other, and hands me the glass with the smaller amount.

"Just save some for me this time and you should be fine," he teases, and takes a sip of his drink. "Oh hey, there's something I need tell you." I'm grateful for the subject change.

"Shoot," I encourage while taking a sip of my own.

"I heard Dad talking privately with the Chief the other day," Emmett starts, quickly gaining my attention. Chief Swan, Bella's father, was never very fond of me. No one was good enough for his little girl. He enjoyed intimidating me as much as possible while I was dating his daughter. He had no qualms about keeping his gun on him whenever I was in the house. I'm also pretty sure that he blames me for his daughter's death. He never said it to me, but something in his eyes told me that he thought it often.

Emmett continues. "They didn't know I was at the house and that could hear their conversation."

"What about?" I ask warily.

"It's about Port Angeles. Dad's not allowed to talk about it with anyone. He won't even tell Mom, but only because she'll worry about you more than she already does and force you back home."

"I don't understand. What's wrong with Port Angeles?"

"There's been an ongoing string of murders for the past two years."

"In Port Angeles?" I ask in disbelief. "That can't be right, Emmett. I think you misheard," I say as I take another sip of my drink.

"No it's true!" he exclaims, defending himself. "It all started two years ago when Lauren Mallory was found in the dumpster behind Bella Italia. I know you remember that."

I cough violently on the whiskey when a gasp takes it down my trachea instead of my esophagus. _Bella_. Her look of fear when she recognized Lauren in the yearbook, afraid that she was a friend, now makes sense to me. She never did offer the reason for her interest in the photo or the story of what happened to her. She didn't want to admit to me that she was the one who killed her.

"The burn a little too much for ya, there?" Emmett asks with a smirk.

"Uh, yeah."

"So anyway, since then, there have been like forty more murders. The police have been investigating this whole time and can't come up with a single clue."

"Why was Chief Swan talking to Dad about it?"

"Because they asked Dad to help with some of the most recent autopsies. They're bringing in different doctors and detectives now to get a fresh look at the case. I guess Charlie was recently put in charge of it. Dad's not supposed to talk about it because they want to keep everything hush-hush since no one can find any leads whatsoever. I guess they don't want to cause mass panic, so they stopped reporting the murders on the news sometime last year."

"Shit," I say pensively. I don't know how else to respond, especially when I know that Port Angeles' next murder is taking place just as we speak.

"So, is Charlie spending more time here, then?" I inquire.

"Yeah, some," Emmett answers. "Are you afraid you're going to run into him?"

_It's not me that I'm afraid he'll run into. _Just thinking about Bella running into her father almost sends me into a panic. How would she deal with that interaction? Would she run, or maybe pretend not to know who he is? She did, after all, recognize him in photos. I wonder if she would tell him the truth, hoping to regain back a part of her life that she has lost. One thing I know for certain, he would definitely come after me, accusing me that I had something to do with his daughter still being alive and him not knowing it.

"Edward, relax," Emmett encourages, mistaking the look on my face as fear of running into the Chief. "He would never start anything with you. And if he did, I would beat his ass."

"That wouldn't get you thrown in jail," I patronize.

"I don't care. I wouldn't let him mess with you like that—it wasn't your fault."

His words bring me back to the time when I was blaming myself—for having Bella alone in the woods, for not being more observant, and for not trying harder to save her. Jacob had to convince me multiple times that there was nothing I could have done. If a vampire is after someone, that person has no hope of survival. He said I was incredibly lucky to make it out alive—I didn't agree with him.

"Anyway, just be careful around here," Emmett says, bringing me out of my tortured thoughts. "They said most of the murders take place at night and are completely random, so try to stay in. I'm glad you had your door locked. Who knows how this person, or people, operates."

If only he knew that the 'murderer' was already on the wrong side of the locked door.

"I'll be careful." I promise him.

"""""You better be. Now, have you removed the plastic from your furniture, or do we have to stand in the kitchen all day?"

"No, the plastic is off the couch," I answer, remembering how Bella was able to fluidly remove the thick material with ease, claiming she only needed to find the weak spot. _Ha! Weak spot in the plastic, my ass_. She just needed to be a creature that had the strength of twenty men.

I lead the way to the living room, Emmett following behind me with the bottle of whiskey. I move the picture, yearbook, and photo album away from the couch, making room for the two of us.

"Taking a walk down memory lane, huh?" Emmett asks as we sit down.

"Uh, something like that." How am I going to explain myself now? I told him in the phone message that I was seeing an image of Bella everywhere. I can't tell him that it was actually her and she was here with me. I take a long sip of my drink to give myself some time to think about it. When I feel the intense burn of the amber liquid in my throat, I realize that the whiskey is probably a mistake. Liquor loosens up my mouth more than I'm comfortable with, and the situation that today has brought is not a good incident to use in testing my tolerance. I decide to just hold the glass and pretend to sip from it, not wanting myself to be allowed under its influence.

"Did you look through all that before or after you saw _her_ all over Port Angeles?" Emmett asks carefully. He knows what mentioning her can do to me.

"After," I answer coolly, surprising him.

As Emmett starts to form his next question, I see his eyes dart to a spot on the floor near the fireplace—his brow knitting in confusion. I follow his line of sight when I see the offending object. _Shit_.

"New bag?" Emmett asks skeptically. I eye the messenger bag that Bella left in her haste to escape. It's gray with black and light gray tribal-l-ike designs flowing over it. Swirls of light blue join the disarray of shapes, softening their tone.

"Uh…" I swallow nervously. "Yeah."

Emmett raises an eyebrow at me. "It's kind of girly," he accuses.

"It's…I…," I stutter uncertainly. Emmett can always tell when I'm not being truthful. Add that to the fact that I'm a horrible liar, and we have a situation that has me dumbfounded and sweaty.

Emmett takes a swig of his drink and encourages me to do the same. Despite my earlier decision, I take a generous mouthful of the whiskey, relishing in the burn and the warmth it provides. The feeling is much more welcome than the nervousness.

Emmett takes my glass from me and sets it, along with his, on the floor.

"What's going on, Edward?" he asks seriously. He won't skirt around the issue anymore.

"Nothing." I have no clue why I lie again, but I also have no idea what else to say.

"Cut the crap. You called me for a reason. Now, what is it?"

I try to think of feasible answers but come up blank. I opt for silence, and Emmett sighs.

"I think I know what's happening." He offers. My eyes widen slightly, and my heart beats a bit faster. I don't know why—it's not like he could actually guess the truth.

"You have a girl here."

"What? No I don't," I counter defensively.

"It would explain why it took you so long to answer the door—give her enough time to hide."

"Emmett, I swear, I don't have a girl here."

"Well, then you did. You would never buy that. Ever," he says, pointing to Bella's bag. "Was there a girl here?"

Again, I answer in silence. His accusation is a bit too close to the truth. I have no clue what I'm going to say. How can I keep this a secret without cracking first?

"That's what I thought," he states arrogantly.

I start to sweat under his gaze—words completely eluding me.

The stress of the day takes its toll and I feel like I'm going to break. First having to deal with thinking that I'm a whole new level of insane with seeing Bella's image in multiple places, and then finding out that she was real the whole time, and still alive. I don't understand why Jacob told me that she was dead. If what he had told me about vampires was true, she couldn't have been dead if she was turned. Why would he lie to me about that?

I finally have her back, although she can't remember me at all, but I can work with that. She loved me once; she can learn to love me again. But if she's an undead creature of the night, what kind of relationship can we realistically have? Then Emmett comes, making Bella flee after almost attacking me. Dad and Charlie are investigating a killing spree that is being caused by my no-longer-dead girlfriend, and Emmett is berating me about Bella's bag, which I have no clue how to explain. And all of this information I have to keep completely to myself, and try to appear that everything is fine and normal before Emmett sees me crack under the weight of it all.

My hands fly to my hair in my signature act of anxiety. I groan, letting my hands slide to cover my face; I want to hide from everything that is suffocating me right now.

"Edward, you called me to come over and talk. Tell me what's wrong," Emmett demands.

"I don't wanna talk," I mumble behind my hands.

"Then why did you call me?" he asks with frustration.

"I thought something was wrong, but it isn't. I'm fine," I explain feebly.

"Yeah, you look fine. You know, this is all getting really old, Edward," Emmett says harshly as he gets up from the couch. His annoyance surprises me; he's never lost his composure with me.

"I don't know how much longer I can just let you slide like this," he continues. "I've been there for you whenever you've needed me, and I never gave you crap for taking your time dealing with everything. But it's been five years and you still won't let me in. You've been carrying this chip on your shoulders all on your own, when all of us wanted to help you. You never let us help you; all you do is shut us out!"

"That's because no one _can_ help me! You don't understand!" I reciprocate Emmett's anger. He's never yelled at me about this.

"Then help me understand! I've been trying to understand this whole time, and you won't let me! I know you better than anyone does, and I _know_ that you've been keeping something to yourself ever since the incident happened. I want to know what it is. Tell me."

"Get out." I command as I stand to face my brother. How dare he demand answers from me? What I tell anyone about what happened to Bella and me is my business. If I could've told him, I would have.

"No way. I'm not leaving until we finish this. You're telling me," Emmett says, challenging me.

I push him away from me and grab the two glasses and bottle of whiskey off the floor, taking them to the kitchen.

"I mean it, Edward. I'm not leaving here until you tell me what it is you're hiding," he warns as he follows me.

I roughly put the glasses in the sink and the bottle in the cabinet, and then turn to Emmett.

"If I'm such a burden, then don't visit me," I say, trying to deter him from his line of questioning.

"Not falling for it. Tell me."

I look away, shaking my head. He isn't going to let this go.

"If you want to know why it's so hard for me to get over, then we can take Rosalie and have her brutally killed in front of you—then would you understand?" I hope bringing his new wife into it will get him to shut his mouth.

Emmett's face contorts into a look of hatred. I've hit a nerve; no one messes with his wife.

"How?" he asks, trying to reign his anger in.

"How what?" I ask, confused by the question.

"Brutally killed how?" He still isn't letting me off the hook.

"Why are you pressing this? You already know what happened."

"No. I know what you told Dad and the authorities, but I want to know what you _didn't_ tell them."

"Get out." I command again. The argument is getting way out of hand, and I can't bring myself to deal with it anymore. My head pounds and my body sags. I've had enough for one day.

"I already told you that I'm not leaving until I get some answers," Emmett reminds me.

Giving up, I flip him the bird and start to walk back into the living room. I'll lock myself in my bedroom if I have to.

Apparently my actions are the final straw for Emmett's anger because before I make it past him, I'm shoved against a wall with him holding me tightly by my arms.

"You're not getting out of this," he seeths. "I've had it with your behavior—we all have—and you're going to tell me the truth even if I have to beat it out of you."

I'm put in a state of shock by my brother's threat. Never once has he treated me like this, and I find myself actually scared of him in the moment—staring at him like a frightened boy.

"Now talk!" he demands.

Before I have time to respond, the feeling of Emmett's strong grip is replaced by a light breeze, and then nothing. I hear a loud bang and see Emmett slumped on the floor across the room. Bella is standing protectively in front of me with sounds emitting from her like inhuman growls. Just like before, instinct is telling me to run and get away from her. I don't like seeing this new side of her.

Emmett looks up from the floor, his expression confused. He looks in my direction, but instead of seeing me he sees Bella stalking toward him. His face pales as he completely freezes; he looks like he's about to be sick.

"Who the hell do you think you are talking to him like that?" Bella asks, sounding deadly. Emmett blinks a few times, his mouth hanging open. He slaps himself across the face, I assume to check to see if he's hallucinating. If I wasn't scared out of my mind, I would laugh at the comical display.

"Wha…how…I…," Emmett chokes out between stuttering breaths. He looks between Bella and me. "Are…are you seeing this, too?" He barely manages to ask me. I nod in response.

"Oh shit…holy shit…how the fuck?" Emmett quietly chants as Bella approaches him. As she gets closer, he starts to scurry away until his back is up against a wall. Bella crouches down, making herself eye-level with him.

"Do you think it's fun for Edward to live with the memories he has of my death?" she asks him. If I didn't know any better, I would say that she was having fun making Emmett think she's a ghost of some kind. The Bella I know would certainly love to do that to Emmett.

Emmett just continues to stare with a disbelieving, frightened expression.

"You're not going to answer? A moment ago you threatened to beat answers out of your brother. Should I beat you until you answer my questions?"

"Bella!" I exclaim, finally finding my voice. She turns her head to look back at me. "Please stop." I plead quietly.

Her face turns to one of remorse, and she stands and walks over to me.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't going to hurt him. He just pissed me off," she explains. A smile tugs at my lips with her admission. "I didn't mean to scare you again. I'm sorry about before, too."

I hear everything she's telling me, but looking into her bright red eyes brings back the image of the vampire that took her from me. It's hard to reconcile those same wicked eyes with my Bella.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asks, misreading the look on my face for annoyance at her.

"No, of course not—it's all just a lot to get used to," I reassure her. She seems to understand.

Emmett is still on the floor, watching our exchange with the same slack-j-awed expression. If I didn't know what to say to him before, I really have no clue now. I guess I have to tell him the truth and hope he keeps his mouth shut.

I walk over to him and offer my hand to help him up. It takes him a few seconds to finally accept my help and stand to his feet.

"Come back in the living room; I'll explain everything."


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome back! I'm so excited to be finally moving on. Writing mojo has been very elusive-stress seems to scare it away-but I've managed to snag it for a while. I hate that it took so long to get this chapter out. It's a little short, but the next chapter is with beta now and should be up this week! And it's longer. **

**If you guys ever have any questions or want to know about upcoming chapters, please feel free to "pester" me on twitter at LwE17. But don't be mean. I've been in customer service for ten years, and I don't tolerate mean very well. You've been warned ;)**

**Big thank yous and hugs to my beta extraordinaire Chloe Cougar.**

**I hope you enjoy.**

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and it's characters. I own a candle with the Cullen Crest on it. No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

><p>BPOV<p>

There is something about Emmett Cullen—I'm not sure what it is—that drives me to mess with him. I don't know if it's the sound of his voice or maybe the way he talks to his brother. Perhaps my eagerness to tease and torture him is indicative of the kind of relationship we once had. He probably used to tease and torture _me_,a and my subconscious mind recognizes the threat and is trying to head it off before he can assert himself as the dominant teaser. He seems the type of person who could be relentless with his taunts. Whatever it is that's leading this drive caused me to go all 'mama bird' on him to try to protect Edward from what looked like was going to be an attack.

I really didn't mean to scare him so badly, but my control slipped a bit and allowed my behavior to get a little out of hand. I blame the nearly eight pints of human blood that are now reigniting the beast inside of me. It's pretty much the vampire equivalent to a person being on a sugar rush.

I do feel bad for frightening Emmett as badly as I have, though, and maybe throwing him across the kitchen was a bit much. Humans tend to be very fragile—physically and emotionally—when it comes to traumatic events, so I'm going to have to remember to be gentler with him. My idea of teasing and his idea of teasing are most likely two very different things. I make a point not to make Emmett think that I'm going to hurt him again. Not seriously, anyway.

I also want to smack myself for scaring Edward…again. I've done nothing but cause him stress today. I know that he is happy that I'm here, but since having seen me this morning, he has experienced one jolting incident after another. He's going to need a good meal and decent night's sleep. I should probably also make sure he drinks something other than beer.

With that thought in mind, I go to a cabinet in the kitchen while Edward leads Emmett back to the living room. I search the cabinets until I find two clean glasses. As I reach for the tap I notice that the sink already contains two large glasses. I frown when I smell the left over residue that coats the insides. _How much alcohol does Edward drink?_ My mind races over possible scenarios of him laid out drunk in any number of dangerous settings. All the ways in which he could possibly jeopardize himself are far too many to count, which makes me not very keen on the idea that my boyfriend may have become an alcoholic after my 'death'.

_Boyfriend? Is Edward my boyfriend?_

The term far too easily slides through my mind. I only just met him. Well, I guess that's not true, but certainly calling him my boyfriend is very forward and a bit out of my comfort zone. Trying to come to terms with that fact that I even have a boyfriend—or should I say fiancé?—has been the hardest thing for me to deal with about today's events.

_Oh my god, is Edward my fiancé?!_

Five years ago I agreed to marry him. That definitely tops the list of things that I cannot even begin to deal with right now. I need to stop thinking about it. Maybe I need to remove a title altogether from Edward. From now he can be…my…human. Yes, that works. Edward is my human—my painfully sexy, beautiful, perfectly chiseled human. That I can deal with.

After swiping my hand across my face to try to help clear my head I fill the two clean glasses with water and bring them to my human and his brother, who are now seated on the couch. Emmett jumps at my appearance—I must have moved too quickly—nervously accepting the glass. Edward takes his glass with a relieved sigh.

"What's wrong?" I immediately ask him.

Edward averts his gaze from me to his water glass and answers me shyly. "I just didn't see where you went. I thought…you were gone."

"I'm here," I say lamely. I don't know what else to say to him. It's very strange for me to have this man so emotionally attached to me when I can't remember the bond he said we shared. I want to; I really want to, but I can't just conjure up the feelings that he might expect me to have for him already. It seems that his sanity is very dependent on my presence in his life, which can really put a lot of pressure on someone with extremely limited memories. I don't want to lead Edward down a road of false hope, but I don't want to hurt him either.

Although, the fact that I don't want him hurt, that I'm led to protect him from danger, and that I'm considering his diet and sleep tell me that there is an instinctual part of me that wants to take care of him.

I haven't cared for anyone in the human race for as far back as I can remember. I don't like to purposely hurt people, but I do have a strong jealousy toward those I see every day living their lives, knowing who they are, and what their future can bring them. Trying to find pity for taking the life—the life I can't have—of every person I kill is very difficult for me to do. With that thought in mind I know that this need for Edward to be safe, happy, and healthy is something that either my mind or heart is recognizing. That alone gives me some comfort in this whole messed up situation.

Hell, I even instinctually got Emmett a glass of water. _I must subconsciously care about him, too!_

"Drink," I say to Edward as I sit down next to him. I glance at Emmett sitting on Edward's other side, holding his glass and staring at me with his mouth hanging open. I'm not so sure how well he is going to take any information that Edward will tell him. Emmett really doesn't seem stable enough right now to hear it; he seems quite vulnerable.

I narrow my eyes and point my finger at him. "Drink that," I say authoritatively.

Emmett's reaction is immediate. He brings the glass to his lips and quickly chugs half of the water before stopping with a gasp and trying to catch his breath.

I giggle at Emmett's actions, but then realize that the need to mess with him just over took me again, and I try to compose myself. Edward gives me a disapproving look.

"Sorry," I mumble.

Edward shakes his head slightly, but I can see him hiding a smirk on his face. _Ah, so this must be normal_.

He takes a few sips of his water before saying anything to his brother.

"Emmett?" he asks softly, trying to get his brother to look at him, but Emmett doesn't respond.

"Hey," Edward says louder, getting Emmett's attention. "Are you okay?"

Emmett looks at me again, staring for a few moments before looking back to Edward.

"I'm seeing a ghost in your apartment. I'm pretty sure that classifies me as not being okay," he answers. "There is a ghost in my brother's apartment." He states, obviously now talking to himself. "A fucking ghost brought me a glass of water. How is this shit happening?"

"She's not a ghost," Edward explains. "She's really here. Bella is here."

Emmett cocks his eyebrow at his brother, looking at him as if he is crazy. He then gives me an appraising look.

"Dude, that's not Bella," he states as if it's obvious.

Edward looks over at me then back at his brother. "What are you talking about? Of course it is."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Dude. No." Emmett argues with an eerie calm.

"It is her!" Edward exclaims, becoming annoyed.

"Calm down." I encourage Edward. "He's in shock. It happened to you, too."

"Emmett, it really is her. I'll tell you—"

"It's not Bella!" Emmett yells, interrupting, and Edward jumps at the outburst. "Bella is dead! I can't explain this," he continues, gesturing at me. "But it can't be her. You said you watched her get killed! We had a funeral! You were dead to the world for the better part of five years and you h ad numerous mental break downs. We almost _lost_ you! And now you want to convince me that Bella is alive and well and s sitting here on your fucking couch?! That everything that happened and that you put us through was for nothing?! She's dead, Edward! I don't know what kind of fucked up shenanigans you wanted me to come over for today, but I'm done. I can't do this anymore."

Emmett gets up off the couch and starts for the door. Edward doesn't even glance at him. I'm not sure he even realized Emmett got off the couch. With the look on Edward's face, it's obvious that Emmett's words cut him pretty deeply.

After hearing the door open, I get up to stop Emmett from leaving.

"Let him go." Edward stops me as we both hear Emmett leave while slamming the door.

"Are you crazy?" I ask him, questioning his judgment.

"He needs to calm down before he'll even think about listening. He'll be back." Edward tries to reassure me.

"But what will he tell your family?! You can't let him leave like this. He needs to know that he can't tell them anything," I argue.

"What's he going to tell them? That I'm harboring a Bella ghost in my apartment and I used it to taunt him? That would make _him _look like the crazy one, and since the role of 'crazy person' in my family is reserved for me...," he explains, trailing off.

"You really think he'll keep his mouth shut?" I ask, needing to be sure.

"I can guarantee it. He has no way of explaining you that wouldn't make him sound stupid or crazy. He wouldn't risk his pride like that."

As much as I don't want to, I decide to trust Edward. What I really want to do is hunt Emmett down, drag him back here, and not let him leave before he hears Edward's story and I'm comfortable with his acceptance of it. As I'm considering numerous different plans to get Emmett to listen, I notice that Edward also seems to be thinking something through. He has his face scrunched up and his eyes occasionally dart from one side to the other.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask him curiously as I sit back down.

He looks at me for a moment before answering. "Just about something Emmett said."

I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't offer up any more information. I think back through Emmett's tirade and try to decide what it was he said that would make Edward shut down a little.

"Is what he said bothering you?" I ask, hedging for an explanation.

"Yes," he answers simply.

"What part?"

Edward looks away from me with his eyes narrowing and his throat contracting stiffly, trying to hold back his emotions. He's either not a sharer or he is still practicing the good secret keeping that he has been utilizing for the past five years.

"You know, if you tell me, I could help you through it," I offer gently.

He sighs in defeat and slumps his shoulders, relaxing his posture. His eyes look to mine and they are so unguarded, showing me pain and remorse. He takes a stuttered breath before speaking to me.

"It was all for nothing," he says lowly. "Everything I've been through since you were taken from me was all for nothing."

"How so? What do you mean?"

"I was crazy, literally crazy," he explains. "I saw countless therapists, got kicked out of college, attempted suicide multiple times and only failed because someone either caught me or figured out my plans; I wasn't very creative. I spent time in an institution, and when I was home I was babysat around the clock by my family. I ruined everything for them. Alice wanted to go to college in California, but she picked a local community college instead so that she could live at home to help watch me. Emmett wasn't even gone for a year before he dropped out of school altogether. Now he works at his father-in-law's car repair shop while taking part-time online courses to try to get his degree. Mom and Dad had plans of traveling after we all graduated. They planned a whole European vacation for that summer. They put a hefty deposit on it, which they lost. They wanted to do so many more things that I held them back from."

"None of that is your fault. You went through a traumatic experience—"

"It _is_ my fault!" he interrupts me. "I've been through traumatic experiences before and was strong enough to pull through it."

His statement intrigues me. What kind of trauma could he have been through?

"But with you…" he continues. "I couldn't survive what happened with you. You were my everything. You anchored me to the ground. I wish you remembered, because then you'd understand what I mean.

"If I had just known you were alive, I would have fared much better than I did. I couldn't live in a world that you didn't. I would have never tried to end my life if I'd known that you were out there somewhere. If I'd just had the hope of being able to see you again I could have pushed past the worst of my demons. I wouldn't have hurt my family as much as I did. Their lives would have been so much better—more fulfilling. I stole all of their options from them. All their pain was for nothing." His voice cracks on the last word and he squeezes his eyes shut, letting a tear run from the inside corner of his eye. The pain he's been through today is finally crashing down on him.

My reaction to seeing him in this state is surprising to myself, but immediate. I reach for his face and cup it with both my hands and wipe the tear away with my thumb, remembering that I must be very gentle with him. He looks a bit embarrassed at himself, but I don't mention it.

"I know there's nothing I can say to change the past, but I'm here now." I try to encourage him.

"You can't leave me again. I couldn't handle it. You have to stay with me," he feebly pleads with me. He's so close to losing it, but in reality he probably needs to let himself have the breakdown that has been looming all day.

"I'm staying," I say as I take the glass of water from his hands and place it on the floor. "I promise I won't leave you. All that bad stuff is over and your life doesn't have to be about nothing. You're going to find yourself again, and you're going to help me find myself. We're going to do it together." The words so easily flow out of my mouth, but I don't know why I say these things to him. I desperately want him to feel better; I want all the pain that my so-c-ccalled death caused him to go away. What I'm promising to him is going to put a big responsibility on me, and I really don't know what I can really offer him with me being a blood-s-sucking demon of the night and all, but something inside of me tells me that I want to take care of him. I'm convinced that part of me recognizes Edward and knows what I'm supposed to feel for him. I just wish I could remember so that I could feel it for myself.

Hearing my words, Edward lets a small sob escape, so I pull in a deep breath and hold it while I take him into my arms to provide some comfort. Clinging to me, he finally allows himself to let loose all that he has been holding inside today.

One might assume that holding onto a grown man while he cries would be an awkward experience. Surprisingly, I don't feel that way at all in this moment. I soothingly run my hands over Edward's back and whisper soft assurances in his ear. His grip tightens around me when he hears them.

After a few minutes I feel that Edward is uncomfortable as he starts to fidget slightly, trying to correct his posture, so I easily turn him around and place his back against me, leaning him comfortably against my body. I rest my chin on his shoulder and wrap my arms around his middle as his tears start to slow. It only takes him a few more minutes to fall asleep. Reliving everything that he's been trying to forget has exhausted him.

I revel in the feeling of Edward's body draped against mine. I think back to times that I have been able to enjoy soaking in the heat of the sun or the hot water of a shower. The heat from both of those things is very enjoyable to my kind, but this, albeit similar with the warmth, is very different. Edward's body hums with the life that it possesses. I can feel his body circulating its blood through every one of his limbs and the slow rhythm of his lungs taking and releasing air. I c can feel both warmth and energy, and somehow it's very soothing to me; it almost makes me feel alive.

Not wanting him to wake up with neck or back pain, I eventually pull Edward from the couch and carry him to his bed. I lay him down before moving to his feet to remove his sneakers. Sleeping with shoes on can't be too comfortable.

I look over him one last time before leaving him to his slumber, and I see something that I was too distracted by his pretty face to see before. His left wrist is lined with a few scars—not the typical horizontal lines of a cutter, but the long vertical slices one uses to try to cut open a vein. I pick up his wrist to examine it closer. One of the scars has tiny indents on either side as if it has been stitched back together. I wonder how close Edward has come to death with his intent to bleed out. I also wonder who had the misfortune of finding him before he lost too much blood. Then I think about my beautiful human lying in a pool of blood with more of the sweet, red fluid flowing from a cut on his wrist. The different levels on which the image appeals to me are vastly inappropriate. I most likely shouldn't tell him about it.

Shaking my daydream from my thoughts, I watch Edward sleep for a few minutes while thinking about where we are possibly going to go from here and all that I promised him. I meant every word as I was saying them, but I would be lying if I said that it doesn't scare me. I'm not sure if I even know how to do all that I promised him. I'm hoping that it will come naturally to me because, according to him, I had already taken care of him before. The part of me that knows what to do has to still be here; I need it to still be here.

There was never a time that I wished to have my human memories more than right now!

Frustration is now becoming more paramount inside of me and I need a distraction to subdue it.

I leave Edward's bedroom and wander around the apartment, looking at the mess of the unpacked clutter that is still strewn about. Boxes are stacked in corners of every room and there is absolutely no order to the placement of his limited furniture, not to mention the plastic still covering the love seat. The only thing that seems organized is the TV mounted above the fireplace, and an entertainment console complete with DVD player, stereo, and two Xboxes_. Who needs two Xboxes? Isn't one enough? Boys._

Seeing the sordid disarray I figure out something I can do to help take care of Edward. It may be a bit intrusive, but I hope he won't mind. It'll at least keep me busy until he wakes up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to all the readers and reviewers out there. It makes me really happy that someone is enjoying this story. I love writing it, and knowing that others are enjoying it makes it that much more fun to create. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**There's a couple lines in this chapter that were inspired by something kind of having to do with the movies. Some of you may recognize it and I'm very curious to see if anyone does. I'd give a hint, but there's no way of doing that without giving it away. Let me know if you find it!**

**A big thank you to my extraordinary beta, Chloe Cougar, whom I love dearly.**

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters. I own a Twilight slap bracelet. No copyright infringement intended.**

**I also want to apologize to some very extreme spelling/grammar issues. I always have a problem with FFdotNet changing the format of my document and some words get extra letters, quotation marks get removed, extra commas, and multiple em-dashes will appear. I try to fix them all, but some slip through the cracks.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>EPOV<p>

"_Edward!"_

_Hearing my name called in a horrific scream propels my muscles to push against the ground harder than I knew they could, but the brute force locked at my neck helplessly cages me to the ground._

"_Edward, help me!"_

_The plea is watery and weak, and it cuts me so deeply that both pain and panic swell every part of me._

_Both the screaming and the struggle continue. I'm able to turn my head toward the source of the cries where her eyes lock with mine—fear prominent in her usually warm gaze as her attacker bears down on her shoulder. She reaches for me and I twist my arm so that I can grab onto her hand. _

_The attacker then turns his sinister stare toward me; his piercing red eyes stun me into a trance. He pulls his lips away from his teeth as he lowers his face to her neck._

_I watch as his teeth push through the skin of her neck and her blood pours to the ground. The pain she feels releases a blood curdling scream from her throat. Her hand clenches mine with a strength I never knew she possessed, causing the bones in my hand to grind against each other._

"_No!" I yell as I again try to force my way back to my feet, but the attacker's hand on my neck pushes me even harder into the ground until a small crack can be heard from my shoulder. I yelp at the sting of the pain._

_Looking once again to her face, I see her blood is still pouring down her neck onto the ground. Her face lacks color and energy. Her expression is one of resolve, as if she's accepting her death. She looks to me, holding my gaze with an intensity that tells me that this will be the last time she'll ever see me, and her grip on my hand loosens. Her eyes then glaze over and stare unseeingly at the sky._

"_Bella, no! No, no, no."_

_I fight harder, pushing my body with kicks against the ground and my hands digging into the dirt._

_Instead of pushing me further into the ground, the attacker now lifts me by my neck up onto my knees as he brings himself to an upright position while maintaining his straddle over her. _

_The blood drips from his chin onto her body, and he uses his hand to close her eyes._

"_It's almost over," the attacker says as he brings his gaze back to her. I follow his line of sight and watch as a transformation takes place. The wound in her neck closes, the skin binding together in perfection. Her skin slowly starts to glow until individual gleams of light bounce off it. Life is brought back to her face as her features set into a look of contentment, a small smile on her lips. She's beautiful and I feel hope._

_The attacker pulls on her hand, encouraging her to sit up. She follows his silent command and lets a deep breath fill her lungs. Her nostrils flare and her head turns in my direction._

"_Yes, my dear, that is for you," the attacker tells her._

_Her eyes fly open revealing the same sinister red eyes of the attacker. I barely have time to register the fear they ignite in me before she lunges at me, her teeth digging into my throat._

I wake abruptly with my fists digging into the pillow, feeling around the covers of the bed to ensure that I'm in the safety of my own bedroom rather than the nightmarish scene I just experienced. When I'm satisfied with my surroundings I roll onto my back and calm myself with some deep breathing.

The particular dream I had is a common one—one that used to haunt me every night. However, this time it didn't end in its usual fashion of Bella being taken away from me. Instead, Bella attacked me with intent to kill, resembling the evil creature that took her away from me.

Bringing my hands to my face to scratch at the stubble that's growing on my chin, I notice that it strangely isn't quite as long as it usually is in the morning, but judging by the amount of light in the room it must be just past dawn.

A shiver runs through my body and I realize that I'm not under the covers. I pull the blanket around me and also notice that I'm still wearing my jeans from yesterday.

_What did I do last night?_

I try to think back to the day before but the only thing that wants to hang in my mind is the nightmare that startled me awake. Other dreams from the night also start flooding back—ones that I've never seen and make me feel both elated and terrified. The images of Bella sitting on a step in the street, and then in my apartment, reminiscing about old times with me, seem miraculous. But seeing her as a red-eyed demon who taunts my brother until he quivers in fear is not any way I would ever picture her. Never have my dreams shown me a frightening, dangerous Bella, nor have they ever put her in my present life. They are usually nightmares recounting the horror from the last time I saw her.

I try to shake every image from my mind, each one causing the pain that I work so hard every day to try to forget, and I don't like the way my most recent dream has painted Bella. Not wanting it to taint my memory of her I think of her sweetness, her beauty, her intelligence, her smile. However, the exercise proves harmful when I find I'm reminded of everything that I lost five years ago. Last night's very realistic dreams have me feeling like I had just seen her and lost her again, and the pain tears through me with a vengeance.

_Alcohol, I need alcohol._

Turning, I notice the bright red numbers of the alarm clock reading that it's seven thirty. I'm perplexed by the sight for two reasons. The first is that it's still a little too dark outside to be seven thirty, and the second is because I have not yet unpacked my alarm clock. So far, I've had no need for it.

_Maybe I've had too much alcohol._

My hand reaches out to touch the clock to ensure that my eyes are seeing what I think they are. After confirming that the object is really there I reach for the bedside lamp and turn it on, but then remember that I haven't unpacked the lamp either.

My breathing accelerates as I take in the rest of the room and see that it is no longer in a state of disorder. The dresser is placed along the wall on the left side of my bed; the only object on it a ceramic bowl that Alice made for me in high school that I keep my spare change in. A night stand adorns each side of my bed, the one to my right holding the clock and the lamp, and the one to my left a navy blue leather-bound bible with silver gilded edges, placed exactly in the center. A shelf unit that houses a small stereo is placed against the right wall of the room. Some books and part of my music collection take up the shelves, along with some trinkets that I hold onto, like my mother's antique jewelry box and a few signed baseballs.

Moving to the closet, I find that it too is organized with my clothing hung neatly and my shoes aligned perfectly on the shelves. I slam the closet door shut and head to the dresser to inspect the drawers. The top drawer has my socks and underwear, the second holds t-shirts and tank tops, the third contains sweat pants and basketball shorts, and my breath catches when I find the fourth drawer empty.

I quickly close the drawer and sit on the bed placing my head between my knees, hoping to calm myself before I hyperventilate.

There is no explanation for how this happened. Not only is my bedroom just organized and tidy, it's arranged in the exact manner it had been when I lived in Forks as a teenager. After Bella's death I rearranged everything, trying in vain to distract myself from my memories.

The bible mocks me from the night stand. It, too, I haven't seen in five years. I grab it and throw it angrily in the drawer.

The only thing that makes sense is that Esme must be here. She's the only person who would know what my room looked like. Well, Alice too, but she wouldn't come up here to unpack my belongings for me. My mother, on the other hand, would do exactly that.

Standing, I decide to go find her.

"Mom?" I call out, expecting her answer, but I hear nothing.

The lights are all on in the living room and kitchen. The living room is also set up according to traditional Cullen decorative style. The way the furniture is arranged makes the large room appear as two, with the couch and love seat placed around the TV and two of Dad's old wing-back reading chairs and matching ottomans in front of the fully stocked book shelf.

I'm confused when I see the chairs because they should still be housed in my storage space in the building's basement, along with the now present coffee table, throw pillows, floor lamps, and art pieces adorning the walls.

"Mom?" I call out again, but there's still no reply.

A delicious aroma causes my stomach to growl and leads me to the kitchen; however, it's unoccupied.

The oven is on, so I open it to see what's inside. A perfect looking lasagna taunts me from the inside and my mouth waters, quickly reminding me how terribly starving I am. The timer on the oven says that it still has fifteen minutes to go, so I sigh and turn to lean against the counter. Unsurprisingly, the kitchen has also been arranged. Frying pans and small pots hang neatly from the rack above the counter, the table now has brown place-mats and a vase with fresh flowers as a center piece….

My eyebrows knit in confusion when my gaze is abruptly brought back to the oven.

_Who the hell makes lasagna for breakfast?_

Certainly not Esme Cullen. If she's going to make breakfast, she's going to make breakfast—with the works. Pancakes, French toast, eggs, fried potatoes, and bacon should be on the table right now. My mother would probably faint at the idea of cooking lasagna for the first meal of the day.

As I try to unravel the mystery of exactly what is going on in my apartment, I turn to look out the window over the sink. The landscape appears remotely darker than it did minutes ago, which only confuses me more.

My hand quickly feels the pockets of my jeans hoping to find my phone, but, instead, I see it still lying on the counter where I placed it after calling Emmett.

_I called Emmett. Why did I call Emmett? I wanted him to come over because I was imagining Bella everywhere. Wait, no, that was a dream. But if it was a dream, why would I call Emmett?_

My mind roils with all the memories and dreams it can think of from the previous day, mashing them all together in a confusing pattern. I try to remain calm while sorting through the chaotic mess of real and make believe, but my breaths are coming a bit heavier than I'd like.

Pulling open the refrigerator door reveals it freshly-stocked with groceries, proving that Emmett did indeed come here. I then remember what I else he brought, and quickly stumble to the cabinet, flinging the door open. The bottle of Southern Comfort stands like a beacon, promising to make everything better.

Grabbing the bottle and a glass, I pour the liquid sloppily then chug the whiskey much quicker than it's meant to be drank. The burn of the excessive amount of alcohol causes me to have a coughing fit, and I slam the empty glass back to the counter ready to fill it a second time.

It's then that the front door is opened with a ferociousness that literally scares me stiff, making me feel like I'm frozen—like I can't move.

"Edward, are you okay?!" asks the most hauntingly beautiful voice, and I close my eyes at the comfort that only _her_ voice can bring.

"What are you doing?!" The voice sounding at my side startles me out of my stillness.

My eyes open to find that Bella is pulling the bottle and the glass out of my hands. What I thought were dreams have now become my reality as the memories from the previous day flood my mind. She really is here with me.

"Oh no, I don't think so," Bella scolds as she places the glass in the sink and starts to pour the whiskey down the drain.

"No, don't!" I yell in a panic and try to grab the bottle from her hand. Bella pulls it out of my reach, and I trip over her feet trying to take it from her. She easily catches me with her other arm and stands me back up right.

"Are you drunk?" she asks me.

"Your eyes are red," I answer her, and she sighs. I don't know why I say that, but it's the first thing I notice, and that detail solidifies the truth of what her existence is. She's the same kind of monster that took her way from me.

"How much did you have?"

"I can't be drunk. I only had…one glass."

"Edward, this is a juice glass! Did you fill it?" she asks, worried.

"I can't get drunk that fast."

"Just tell me how much you had," she demands, and I can't refuse her tone.

"Only about half. Maybe more? I don't know."

"Half the bottle or half the glass?" she shrieks.

I point to the glass and she relaxes, but continues to pour the rest of the contents of the bottle into the sink. I try again to pull it from her, but she holds me at a distance with her free hand.

_Damn, she's strong._

"Sit," she orders after the bottle is empty, and she points to the table.

I do as I'm told, then rest my head against the surface.

"I step out for one minute to throw away some boxes and I already screw this up." She chastises herself.

"You don't screw up anything; you're perfect," I mumble against the wood. Her hand gently smoothes over my hair before I hear the refrigerator door open and close.

"Try drinking this." I turn my head and notice the bottle of water next to me.

_Blech, water. Not anywhere near as fun as whiskey._

Ignoring my disdain, I untwist the bottle cap and take a few sips.

"I shouldn't have let you sleep so long. I should have woke you up and made you eat. Now you're dehydrated and can't hold your liquor. The lasagna should be done soon. I can't believe you didn't eat anything all day.

That gets me thinking. "Why did you make lasagna for breakfast?" I ask as if it's the most absurd thing I've ever heard of.

Bella tries to hide her smile. "Do you usually eat breakfast close to eight o'clock at night?"

"It's night time?" I'm completely bewildered.

Bella giggles at my reaction and the sound makes me smile.

"You didn't sleep all night," she starts to explain. "You fell asleep around noon, and now it's—" She is interrupted by the sound of the oven's buzzer. "—time for dinner."

"There should be some oven mitts in the drawer on your left," I tell her.

"Okay," she responds, but otherwise ignores my words. Reaching into the oven, she grabs the scalding hot glass dish with her bare hands, and then places it on the stove top. The cheese bubbles inside the dish as she turns off the oven. "It just needs to cool for a few minutes."

I stare at the lasagna as if it's a life preserver. The aroma is so enticing that my mouth waters and my stomach growls again.

"I'm so sorry, Edward. You must be starving. I should have woken you to eat, but you were sleeping so heavily that I thought it would be better for you to get your rest. I was obviously wrong," she says quickly as she rushes to get a knife to start cutting the lasagna, and then plops a slice onto a plate. "Here, it still needs to cool longer, so just be careful with it. Don't burn yourself."

Bella places the plate in front of me and hands me a fork that I never saw her retrieve. I quickly dig into the steaming food, but Bella grabs my wrist before I'm able to put the fork in my mouth.

"Wait," she says, then pulls the fork closer to her face before she blows on the bite of lasagna to cool it down. When she's satisfied with her efforts, she releases me and allows me to eat. "It was too hot," she explains.

I chew the food and find that it is at a perfect temperature—not to mention, a perfect taste. Bella has managed to rival my mother's cooking.

She smiles in relief, probably glad for the fact that she saved my mouth from third degree burns.

I attempt to take a second bite when I'm again stopped by Bella; this time she pulls the fork from my hand altogether.

"Hold on," she requests. She uses the fork to quickly cut the slice of lasagna into bite sized pieces. When finished, she brings her face closer to the plate and gently blows across the food, intermittently rotating the plate.

My head rests in my hand and a smile spreads across my face. Seeing her like this makes my heart swell as I remember all the other times she behaved obsessively over me when I needed something. If there is one thing that Bella Swan is it's a caretaker, and a damn good one.

I think about earlier today and how her actions frightened me and made me afraid to be near her, but seeing this recognizable side of her reminds me that she still_ is_ Bella. She's still the Bella that I never once stopped loving. She's still the girl that I gave myself to and promised a lifetime of happiness. She's still the only person I could ever imagine being with, and she's still the girl that I want to spend the rest of my life with. She just happens to be a vampire, and also doesn't remember me at all. But those things don't change who she is. It's obvious to me right now that there is really nothing different about her. Nothing I can't live with, anyway.

Bella again hands me the fork and pushes the plate back in front of me. "Here, you can eat it now."

"Are you sure it's safe?" I tease her.

She sticks out her dainty tongue at me and it causes me to laugh.

"Just eat it, Pretty Boy," she says to me, but then a look of concern crosses her gorgeous face. "Unless it's not any good. Does it taste bad? I didn't make it wrong, did I? I can't really tell," she says in a panic.

"No, it's perfect. You made it just right," I say to calm her fears. "It's actually very delicious."

I put another piece of the lasagna in my mouth and savor the taste before quickly chewing it and grabbing the next piece.

"I didn't know vampires cooked," I say conversationally after a few more bites.

Bella wears a slight expression of shock at my statement. "You sound pretty comfortable with that term. It doesn't bother you?"

"What, cooked? Would you rather I say properly prepared? Is that more politically correct?" I tease her again.

"Edward, seriously, you know what I meant," she corrects me, the insecurity about herself obvious in her tone.

I place my fork on the plate and take her hand. Her lips part as she looks to where I'm touching her.

"Bella, I spent the last five years thinking that you were dead and gone from my life forever." She turns her gaze from our linked hands to my face. "The fact that you are a vampire is what allowed you to come back into my life. I could never hate that about you. Hell, I wouldn't care if you were a zombie if it meant that I got to keep you."

Her mouth turns up into a smile. "That would be gross though because there would be all these Bella parts always falling off of me in your apartment. It would be messy."

"I wouldn't care," I start to say, and I release Bella's hand to pick up my fork again. "I would just collect it all and keep it in a box. I'd call it my Bella box." I finish and put another piece of lasagna in my mouth.

"Ew, that's disgusting," she says despite her giggle.

"So is drinking blood, but you don't hear me judging." Her foot lightly collides with my shin under the table. "Ow!"

"Whatever, blood is awesome. Don't knock it till you try it."

"Maybe I will." I pop another piece of lasagna in my mouth, and she looks at me skeptically.

"Really?" she asks disbelievingly. I only respond by sticking out my tongue at her, and she laughs.

"So, did you do all this—unpack all my things?"

A shy look crosses Bella's features, and she nods her head. "I hope it's okay. I needed something to do while you slept, and I wanted to do something nice for you."

"It's more than okay. Thank you. I probably never would have gotten around to it," I say lowly, realizing that I've absently given away the depth of my depression.

"Three weeks is kind of a long time to keep your things packed up."

"How did you know that I've been here that long?" I ask, confused.

"Your mom texted you. She asked if your Dad's leather chairs have s pent three weeks sitting in that dingy storage unit in the basement. She said that Emmett told her that he didn't see them today."

"Yeah, that sounds like her. Wait, she knows that Emmett was here today?" I ask in concern.

"I guess so. Is that not good?"

"It just means that the inquisition is coming," I explain, thinking about the barrage of questions Esme will have for me considering Emmett was probably very aloof about today's visit. "Did she say anything else?"

"No, but I did text her back," Bella admits nervously while wringing her hands. "I only told her that the storage space was being taken care of along with the rest of your unpacking, and that I—meaning you—would call her tomorrow when you were finished. I hope that wasn't intrusive. I just wanted you to be able to rest and wanted to surprise you with the apartment. I didn't mean any harm…"

"It's fine," I interrupt her. "Really, I don't mind. Do you know how many times you have already covered for me with my parents?"

Bella smiles lightly and shakes her head. Of course she wouldn't know.

"You know, I thought for sure that when I saw the apartment after I woke up that my mother was here."

"Why's that?"

"The way you arranged everything; it's the same way Esme decorates. It's almost like you mimicked our home in Forks. I was especially freaked out by the bedroom."

"Did I screw it up?" Bella asks insecurely.

"No, you're not screwing up anything. Stop saying that," I say, wanting to set her mind at ease. "It's just that it's arranged exactly how it was when I was in high school. Everything is identical."

Bella contemplates this and it looks like she is trying to solve a hard math problem. "Can you show me what you mean?" she asks me.

Rising from the table, I guide Bella to the bedroom and begin to point out the night stands and the items on the book shelf. She questions me about the bible and I tell her that I put it away. She doesn't push the subject any further. Then I show her the closet and tell her how the clothes and shoes are organized the same way I had them five years ago. The whole time I'm explaining the details Bella continues to wear that contemplative look.

"Is everything all right?" I ask her.

"What about the dresser?" she asks intensely. I'm intrigued that she has asked about the most bizarre aspect of her organizing.

I pull out the bottom drawer that she's left empty. "You mean this?"

She looks at the offending drawer and nods her head.

"I was actually wondering why you left it empty." I'm dying to hear her answer.

Bella takes a deep breath before speaking. "I can't really explain it. I started in the living room and kitchen, and when I started unpacking your things the places I put them just seemed so natural for them. It was a really strange feeling. I almost felt like I knew where everything should go, but that's crazy. I have no clue. I thought I was just guessing, but a lot of it just felt right. Especially in here. I figured that I must have seen a lot of your things before, and when I held them I really tried to remember, but I couldn't. However, some things I just knew, like I recognized them. No, that's not right. More like I felt connected to them? Oh god, I sound crazy. I don't know how to explain it at all, but it's just a feeling. Maybe my mind is trying to remember."

"It makes sense," I tell her. Inside I'm overjoyed that she is still feels some kind of connection to me. She's not lost like she thinks she is. "It just means that you're still in there." I tap her forehead lightly. "I think perhaps you do still have your memories, but for whatever reason your mind won't grant you access to them."

"Is that even possible?"

"Yes. It happens most often with those who suffer emotionally traumatic events," I say pointedly.

"Do people ever get their memories back?" she asks cautiously, almost as if she's afraid to hear the answer.

"Yes, some do. It can take time though. Sometimes it takes convincing the mind that the danger is gone and it no longer needs to protect itself. It's textbook psychology."

"Well, remind me to get that textbook," she says, obviously wanting to lighten the mood a bit. "So, what's so important about the drawer?"

"First tell me why you left it empty."

She sighs before explaining. "When I was organizing the drawers I switched your clothes around so many times. Nothing I did felt right when I tried to use all four drawers, and it was driving me crazy. So I took a few deep breaths and tried to feel again like I did with some of your other things. After I did that, I put everything where I thought it should go and the bottom drawer was left empty, and it just made sense. I didn't feel right putting clothes in it and couldn't relax about it until it was left empty. I was confused about it, but it made me feel better so I left it."

Joy fills me at Bella's rambled explanation. I'm thrilled that she felt too reluctant to fill that bottom drawer. It solidifies for me that she still knows everything she thinks she's forgotten. She knows, and nothing could make me happier in this moment.

"What?" she asks me. I must be taking too long to address her as I stare with an adoring smile on my face.

"I just can't believe you knew to keep that drawer empty."

"Why is that so important?" she asks, losing some patience.

"Because it's _your_ drawer," I tell her.

She stares at me for a few moments, seemingly mulling over what I just said, before I elaborate.

"The summer after junior year, you started spending a lot of time at our house; you know, always spending the weekends and any other night your dad would let you. You were always lugging a duffle bag back and forth, so I decided to empty out one of my dresser drawers to make it easier for you. That was your drawer."

She looks at me with equal parts elation and concentration.

"What is it?" I ask her, wanting to know what it is she's thinking about.

"I used to keep a book in there," she carefully states. "Stuffed at the bottom?"

My eyes just about bug out of my head with the shock that she is remembering something; however, she misinterprets the gesture.

"I'm wrong, aren't I?"

"No, no. I'm just surprised."

"When you were telling me about the drawer it was almost like I could see it, but just at the periphery. I'm right?"

I nod my head in the affirmative. "Yeah, you're right. Do, um…do you know what the book was about?" I ask a bit shyly.

Bella's eyebrows knit together while she thinks. After a few breaths, she closes her eyes.

"It's white? Not very big," she guesses and looks to me for confirmation.

"Uh huh," I mumble, trying to encourage her.

She closes her eyes again. "I see…there are people on the front. But they're blurry; I can't see what they look like or what they're doing. That's all I got. I can't see anymore."

"Wow," I state, impressed. "Does this ever happen to you? Do you often remember things here and there?"

"Yeah, it can happen, but I need a trigger. Sometimes I'll see or hear something and all of a sudden my mind sees an image. If I really take the time to concentrate on the image then more details come to me. I spend a lot of time trying to do that, but it's a really slow process."

I sit down on the bed and she follows suit. "Like what? Give me an example."

"Well, earlier you said the name Jake and I saw long black hair."

I don't really feel like getting on the subject of Jacob at the moment. "What else?"

"Okay. This one time, I was walking past a bar that had neon lights in the window. One of the lights was shaped like a cactus, and then I saw all these different kinds of cacti. After concentrating on the image later, all I could come up with was desert and more cacti. I have no idea what it means."

"You grew up in Phoenix."

"I did?" she asks, surprised.

"Yes. You lived there with your mom until junior year—then moved back up to Forks to live with your dad."

"My parents aren't together?" she questions sadly.

"No, not since you were a baby."

"Oh," she replies quietly, looking to her lap in disappointment.

I take her hand in mine to provide some comfort. When she brings her eyes back to mine I ask, "Any other images you'd like clarification on?"

She smiles at my attempt at distraction, but I can see some excitement brewing in her eyes. She brings her leg up underneath her and repositions herself so that she is facing me.

"Yeah, okay, I'll play." Yep, she's definitely excited. "So many times I've seen this ugly orangey red truck. It drives me crazy because I see it quite often, and it's the most hideous thing I've ever seen."

I immediately break into laughter at her opinion of the dastardly thing. "Thank you so much for saying that," I say between laughs.

"Why is it so funny?"

"That was _your_ truck," I answer and her eyebrows fly up to her hair. "And you loved the crap out of it, too."

"No way. You're teasing me," she accuses.

"I wish I was. Countless times, I offered to buy you a new car, but you wouldn't give up your truck for anything. It was like a security blanket, or something."

"You wanted to buy me a car?!"

"You act like that's a bad thing."

"It's a car! A car! People, especially teenagers, don't just buy each other cars."

"I really don't want to have this argument again," I tell her. That ongoing argument is something I actually did not miss this past five years.

"Well, that statement at least proves that I was rational, so thanks for that."

I roll my eyes. Wanting to continue driving in a rusted out death trap is anything but rational.

"Anything else you want to know?" I ask, hoping for a subject change.

"A purple bedspread—yours or mine?"

"That's definitely you."

"Um…a painting of a dog?"

"Ah yes, dog face painting. It was in your room in Forks. Your mom bought it at a yard sale when you were a baby and didn't take it with her when she moved you to Phoenix. We always used to joke about it because it was so obscure."

"We called it dog face painting?" she asks, giggling.

"Oh yes. We even talked to it. 'Good night, dog face painting'. 'You understand me, dog face painting'. 'Stop watching me undress, dog face painting'. We were really cool back then."

Bella laughs heartily at the information. "I _need _to get that painting somehow." She jokes with me.

"A hospital room?" she asks after she gains some composure.

"Only one?" I ask surprised.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you were in the hospital quite frequently. You were the clumsiest person in the whole world."

"I was not," she argues disbelievingly.

"I beg to differ, and I'll prove it. There was the badminton racket to the face that ended up in three stitches to your temple. Then there was the time you sprained your wrist because you landed on it while trying to get out of the way of Mike Newton catching a football. I almost killed him for that one. You also sprained your ankle while slipping on some ice. You gave your pinky toe a hairline fracture hitting it on your desk while attempting to dance in your room. And the countless times you needed stitches: the tomato cutting incident, the zucchini cutting incident, the onion cutting incident. For Christmas, Alice bought you a Slap Chop in an attempt to save your life. Then there was the mirror breaking incident and the glass Christmas ball conundrum which happened at our house and my dad just stitched you up in the dining room. And lastly, w,e have, the cougar attack, the steel rod through the eye, being impaled by a deer's antlers, and the alien probing gone awry; that was a bad one."

"Oh, come on."

"Okay, I made up the last few, but they could have happened…to you."

"I can't believe I was that bad," Bella states horrified.

"You were my father's best customer. In fact, I'm sure it's because of you that my parents were able to put us all through college."

She sticks her tongue out at me again, and it causes me to smile.

"You're actually the reason my decision to go to medical school was solidified. I figured that if I was going to spend my whole life with you, then I was going to have to know how to properly take care of you. That meant learning how to suture and set broken bones."

"That's not a joke, is it?"

"Not at all. When it came to your safety, nothing was a joke."

Bella looks at me with an intensity that almost mimics the looks she used to give me when we were together. I feel my heart sink to my gut with anticipation of what that might mean. Could she really be falling for me so quickly? I really hope she is, because having her here in front of me and not being able to hold her, kiss her, or love her, is strongly testing my patience. I want everything we had back so badly, it hurts. I don't know what I would do if she were to refuse me. Seeing that look of adoration in her eyes is calling to me—drawing me in to her. My mind gets lost in the beauty of her face and I feel weak. Being with her is the only thing that will make me strong again.

Bella's hand flies to my chest and pushes me gently. I wasn't even aware that I was physically moving toward her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize what I was doing. I just…anyway, I know it's too soon for you. That was stupid of me."

"That's not the problem," she quietly states with an undercurrent of shame.

_Does she want to kiss me?_

"What do you mean?"

"I can't just kiss you with how I am. It's not safe for you."

I think about what she said and think about what Jacob told me about vampires and how they're ruthless, savage, and out of control.

"You'll kill me?" I ask, afraid to know the truth.

She nods her head in affirmation.

"But you almost kissed me earlier, right before Emmett showed up."

Her expression morphs to one of regret. "That was really dumb of me. I shouldn't have allowed myself to get so caught up in the moment, especially with how thirsty I was. You wouldn't have survived," she finishes in a soft voice.

Bella gives me a moment to think about what she has just admitted to. It's important for me to remember that even though she is Bella I am in a state of constant danger from her. I need to remember to not get carried away with my physical feelings for her, especially if she has the weakness to also get carried away herself.

A moment goes by where I also entertain the thought of becoming like her. Is it the only way a relationship with her would work? If it is, then there's no question. I'll do it. I don't care what the price is, I need her.

_But even if it means causing the deaths of countless people?_

What choice do I have? None—I need her. Maybe I can drink bagged blood.

I decide not to bring up my thoughts with her, because I don't know how much she can handle right now. I just got her back today, and knowing her cautious personality, it is probably too soon to bring up forever.

_Forever with Bella._

Nothing would make me happier; it's the greatest gift I could ever be given.

Was that what fate had in mind for me this whole time? Was I destined to be fortunate enough to be given eternal youth with my soul mate? If I had to endure the hurt and turmoil of the last five years as a sacrifice to be given the gift of forever with Bella, then I would do it for another five years. I'd endure anything for that.

With that thought, I determine to join her. Everything Jacob said about vampires be damned. I don't care. We don't have to be bad, out of control murderers like he thinks all vampires are. Maybe we can feast on prison inmates, or act as detectives hunting down people on the most wanted list. There are a million possibilities. How bad can vampires really be if Bella is one? She's the kindest person I know.

"I'll be more careful from now on," I promise with a smile on my face. For the first time in five years I'm actually excited about where my life is going, and I can't wait to start living it. But I'll be patient for Bella. I'll give her anything she needs.

Bella reciprocates my smile, probably happy that I'm not upset about her second confession to want to m waurder me today.

"Do you have more questions?" I ask, wanting to get us back to our fun, reminiscing conversation.

"I have a ton of questions if you really want to take the time to answer them. I want to know everything."

"All right," I say as I get up from the bed and start my way to the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" she asks, following me.

"If I'm going to pull an all-nighter, I'm going to need to eat a lot more of that lasagna."


	5. Chapter 5

**Welcome back! I greatly apologize for the delay on this. The chapter has been finished for about a month now, but my beta has been super busy and hadn't had a chance to take a look at it. She had some time this weekend and got half of it done, so I'm posting that as Chapter 5. The other half will be done sometime this week, hopefully, and will be Chapter 6. Sorry that it's not as long as I intended. I'm a big fan of long chapters, especially when updates are not as frequent as I would like. The next chapters are coming along nicely, and I'm really excited about them. I really have a lot of fun with this story, and I hope you're enjoying it as well. Thank you for reading, supporting, and reviewing!**

**Lots of love to my wonderful beta ChloeCougar.  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters. I own a hostile army of Edward Cullen action figures whose blog no longer receives enough attention. Sorry, guys. No copyright infringement intended.  
><strong>

**Again, I apologize if there are weird grammar mistakes, like extra commas, letters, or spacing. I try to catch all the weird things that FFnet does while uploading documents, but sometimes I miss some.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Last time...<br>_

_"I'll be more careful from now on," I promise with a smile on my face. For the first time in five years I'm actually excited about where my life is going, and I can't wait to start living it. But I'll be patient for Bella. I'll give her anything she needs._

_Bella reciprocates my smile, probably happy that I'm not upset about her second confession to want to murder me today._

_"Do you have more questions?" I ask, wanting to get us back to our fun, reminiscing conversation._

_"I have a ton of questions if you really want to take the time to answer them. I want to know everything."_

_"All right," I say as I get up from the bed and start my way to the kitchen._

_"Where are you going?" she asks, following me._

_"If I'm going to pull an all-nighter, I'm going to need to eat a lot more of that lasagna."_

BPOV

I have never laughed so much in my life…not that I can remember, anyway. Edward stayed up through the night at my request; it didn't hurt that he'd slept most of the day. The stories he had about his siblings, me, and our times at school would make any movie producer see dollar signs. He told me everything I could ever want to know about my life, from the time I was born, to the day we were separated. I can't believe how much he knows. Apparently, we told each other everything when we were together; we had no secrets. I did kind of feel badly that he had to retell me his life story since I couldn't recall our conversations from years ago. He hadn't had a terribly easy life before I came along.

Yesterday, when Edward told me that he'd been through traumatic experiences before what happened in the meadow, I couldn't even imagine that it could be as bad as the horror he described to me.

I was surprised to find out that Edward was adopted by Dr. Carlisle and Esme Cullen when he was nine years old. His biological mother and father had been murdered in their home in Chicago while Edward was in the house. He'd been up in his room and never even heard anything happen, and he had ohe nly later discovered their mangled bodies on his way to retrieve a glass of water from the kitchen.

Carlisle and Esme had been living in Chicago at the time and knew Edward's parents. They also knew that both Elizabeth and Edward Masen Sr. were only children, leaving Edward Jr. with nowhere to go and no one to take care of him. When they heard what happened, they jumped at the chance to adopt him. With Carlisle being one of the best doctors in the city, and Edward Sr. being the best lawyer, the Cullens had been able to meet young Edward a few times at different events reserved for the city's socialites and their families, and they adored him, hoping that one day they'd have a son just like him. Well, they got their wish, albeit not in the most desirable circumstances.

Investigators never solved the mystery of the Masen's murders. They suspected foul play with one of Edward Sr.'s many questionable clients, but they were never able to pin any evidence on any of them.

Wanting to take Edward away from the hassle of the publicity that his parents' death caused, the Cullens moved to the small town of Forks, Washington so that he would have the chance to grieve in peace.

Edward told me that it hadn't taken very long for him to warm to Carlisle and Esme. Carlisle went out of his way, taking time from the grueling hours of medicine to be with the boy, which was more than Edward can say for his real dad who had been practically addicted to his work. Carlisle made sure that Edward was never deprived of experiences, entertainments, opportunities, and affection; nor did Esme. Edward says that no one can resist her charms. He believes that even the emotional walls of Charles Manson would crumble if exposed to the amount of love that woman can dish out. Hearing about all that she did, and still does for Edward, I don't doubt his theory for a moment.

It was only a year after their move to Forks that Carlisle and Esme brought home Emmett, who is just a year older than Edward. They wanted Edward to have everything they thought a growing boy should have, and that included siblings. They also wanted an excuse to bring home more children, since they can't 'make' their own. It only took them another ten months after that to find Alice, who is a year younger. Both Emmett and Alice also came from some unpleasant backgrounds, but that didn't stop them from being sucked in by Carlisle's and Esme's affections. They all quickly became the picture perfect family that could only be rivaled by the Brady's.

One could say that they pretty much lived happily ever after. That is, until I came along and had to go get attacked by a vampire. Apparently, that event not only affected Edward, but the whole family. Both Emmett's and Alice's repressed issues from their pasts resurfaced, resulting in many arguments and countless family therapy sessions for everyone.

Even with all the new familial discord, Carlisle and Esme did not let their family fall apart. They picked up the pieces as best they could and kept everyone together. Apparently, no one displays strength and support better than the Cullen family.

I was very impressed by everything Edward told me about his family. I'm proud that I was able to take part in it for a time.

After hearing about Edwards tragic past, I questioned him on how he pushed past his parent's death, but not mine. Certainly, finding your parents murdered bodies as a child has to be more traumatic than watching someone carry off your high school girlfriend. His expression at my question was very intense.

"You're so much more to me than my parents were," he explained. "I barely saw my dad. My mom was great, though. She took really good care of me and really loved me. But my dad taught me when I was really young that I needed a future—a path to live. He told me that I wouldn't always be able to be under his wing, and that I had to learn to carry myself. That always stuck with me. I knew that one day I'd leave my parents and live my own life. I think my dad just wanted me to have goals and know the importance of achieving them."

"That's kind of a harsh way to teach a child that lesson, don't you think?" I asked, questioning his father's motives.

"Probably. Esme had a fit when I told her that one. But I still took the lesson to heart because it turned out to be true. They were killed and I couldn't depend on them anymore. I knew I had to let them go. It was hard, but I did my best. Then you came along and became exactly what my father told me I should have. You became my future. Everything I chose for my own life ahead of me was for you, even my career choice. My future was to make you happy and give you a long, fulfilling life, and I finally felt that I could truly heal from losing my parents because of it; I could finally move on. You healed me of the hurt their deaths caused, and you gave me a purpose.

"Then, when you were 'killed'…" He brought his hands up making quotation marks with his fingers. "…I had nothing; my reason for existing was gone. There was nothing more this world could have offered me that was more perfect for me than you, and I no longer had a need to live anymore. I would have never gotten over it—over you."

I tried so hard to resist the changes that were slowly starting to happen inside me since I ran into Edward the previous day, but it was at that moment of his confession that my efforts were in vain. I completely fell in love with Edward Cullen for the second time in my life.

I feel so attached and bound to this human that, if he were to be taken away from me, I would feel the same way he felt five years ago; I would have nothing to _live_ for.

I can't believe how short a time it took for it to happen. I didn't want to let myself feel this way too soon, it feels too vulnerable, which is not a good feeling for a vampire. But my heart gave me no choice; I can't control it. Edward is _my_ human—my mate.

Remembering my short time with James and Victoria, our conversations about the mate bond flitter through my mind. They tried to describe the feelings they almost instantly had for each other, and I remember thinking that I couldn't understand how anyone could be so weak to feel so dependent on another person's existence. They told me there is nothing rational about it; it's an instinctual action in us that we can't control. Keeping our mates safe and happy at all times can very easily become our number one focus. And after last night, I can now understand everything that they told me; I feel it for myself.

What is most thrilling about the night, apart from the whole falling in love thing, is the memories his stories have triggered in my mind. I've seen more images of my past in one night of talking with Edward than five years of meditation have ever afforded me. He brought his photo album back out and started going into great detail of what was going on in each picture. I started seeing some of the people he described and could hear their voices in my memory. I wanted to cry with joy at the gift he'd given me.

But I still have a hard time remembering _him_, which breaks my heart a little. I want the memories of him more than anything. Everything he tells me about our relationship just seems far too good to be true. If I remember them, than I can know that the possibility of such happiness really exists, and it exists for me.

He described every single detail of the day that we shared our first kiss. As he was telling me, I could almost see it—almost feel it. I saw the shady images of the outline of the meadow and him sitting as a blurry figure in front of me. The memory was almost there, but my mind won't let me have it. None of the details from the story were the right trigger to bring him back to me. It's like my memory protects Edward behind a vault door, stubbornly, not letting me in on the combination. It's very frustrating, but I'm hoping it will change. However, I am grateful for what my mind _did_ let me unlock in the night.

The water in the bathroom shuts off, letting me know that Edward is done with his shower as I finish tidying up the mess I made with my attempt to fix him breakfast. Yesterday, I was able to create a whole lasagna that Edward stated was incredibly delicious, from a recipe that popped into my mind as soon as I decided to cook him dinner. This morning, the ability to prepare some simple scrambled eggs completely eluded me. Apparently, greasing the frying pan is necessary, especially when the flame of the gas stove is turned all the way on the highest setting. The eggs stuck to the pan faster than I can cross the room. What I ended up salvaging from the pan in no way resembled eggs. Edward laughed, saying they looked more like snake intestines, and then made a sandwich from the leftovers that Emmett had brought yesterday. I don't know what caused the disconnect between dinner and breakfast in my mind, but the triumph I felt at making the lasagna was quickly diminished. I'm terribly out of practice at cooking; I'll probably have to invest in a recipe book.

When I hear a door open I sneak up to the hallway hoping to catch a glimpse of Edward walking out of the bathroom. It's kind of stalker-ish and creepy, but the temptation of seeing Edward's body is way too high. I know for a fact that he didn't take a change of clothes with him, and I very much want to see what state of dress he decides to be in on his way back to the bedroom.

And Edward does not disappoint. Before my eyes walks the most perfect specimen of the male human form that I have ever seen…clad in a low slung towel clutched at his narrow hips. His t-shirt and jeans from yesterday are held in his other hand at his side. My view allows me to watch the hypnotic push and pull of his back muscles and broad shoulders as he makes his way to the bedroom.

My body responds in both familiar and unfamiliar ways as I watch him. I've previously felt attraction to men that I find…well, attractive, but I've never been hit with the kind of desire that I feel when I look at Edward. My new found feelings for him increase that desire ten-fold, and I actively have to try not to reach out and touch him. Quashing that particular desire is going to be a trial like I've never experienced; vampires don't adapt easily to not getting what they want, when they want it.

Continuing to watch him, the desire in me builds. My mouth fills with venom, and I feel the wide dilation of my pupils as the want for both Edward's body _and _blood bring my base instincts to the surface. A vampire's need to take and possess cause thirst and desire to go hand in hand. I find that I can't crave his body without also craving his blood, and the thought drives me mad because I can't stop this new yearning I have. If I constantly desire Edward, then I'll constantly thirst for him. That means that it will only be a matter of time before I give into one of the cravings I have for him. With either one, he'll end up dead. I'm sure that I can learn to balance all these new feelings out; it took me about eight months to balance my blood lust, but I'm hoping that it takes a hell of a lot less time to get used to what I'm feeling for Edward right now. I can't stand the fact that he's in danger from me like that. I also can't stand that fact that I can't touch him the way I want to—that I'm drawn to, and I hope that this internal war I'm having doesn't end in casualties.

My ogling is about to end as Edward turns into the doorway of his room. At first, I'm content with letting him stay oblivious to my spying, but I notice something hidden under his right arm that is splayed across his ribs. I move from behind the corner and make my way toward him.

"What's that?" I demand as I make my presence known at his side.

Edward jumps at the sound of my voice, almost losing the grip he has on the towel.

"Is this how it's always going to be, with you scaring the shit out of me every time I'm not looking?" he says as he recovers his breath.

"Sorry," I say trying to hide my smile unsuccessfully. "And to answer your question, yes, it will always be this way, so you better get used to it."

He smiles down at me, probably happy that I have again declared intentions to stay with him.

"I can get used to anything," he states softly.

I smile back at him, but then return my attention back to his ribs. His eyes follow mine and his expression morphs to one of trepidation. Gently lifting his arm by the elbow, I can now make out the marking that adorns his side. My fingers reach to trace over the image, and I admire the elegant artistry. A black swan sits almost vertically on the top corner of the sun. The swan's neck is completely curved, allowing its head to rest lazily on its chest. There is gleam in the eye that makes the swan look to be relaxed and at rest. I marvel at how detailed the tattoo is. Each feather is outlined and shaded perfectly, almost making the bird look like it sits on top of Edward's body instead of being permanently embedded into his skin.

"When did you get this?" I ask as I release his arm.

"A few years ago." He doesn't offer any more information, and I find it strange that he is all of a sudden being timid about something, because he was really open with me all night.

"Will you tell me about it?"

"Um…can I get dressed first?" he asks shyly.

I make a show out of slowly looking his body up and down, making his cheeks pink slightly.

"Nope," I reply. My answer causes him to let out a small chuckle.

"I'll be right back," he states as he goes into his room and closes the door.

I maintain my place in the hallway and can hear the slide of clothing across his skin as he dresses quickly. He swings the door open and jumps in surprise, seeing that I'm still right on the other side.

"You're going to have to get used to it," I tease him.

"Right."

Making no move away from the doorway, I watch him expectantly, waiting for him to explain his tattoo. He coolly settles into the doorjamb crossing his arms over his chest.

"Can I help you with something? Do you perhaps need more eggs to destroy?" he asks cheekily.

He wants to mess with me, does he? I can have some fun with that.

"Edward, do you have any idea how dangerous it can be to fool with a vampire?" I ask, straightening my posture and jutting my chin out. I try to keep my features somewhat relaxed so as not to scare him too badly.

"Are you going to punish me?" he challenges with a superior smirk on his face. He's gaining a bit too much confidence in himself.

"Yes," I say seriously, not letting my composure display the humor or playfulness that I feel.

He blanches slightly and tenses, letting his arms drop, and his body is no longer relaxed.

"Bella…I—," he starts, trying to find words to put me at ease.

"Oh no, it's too late for apologies. You've already upset me too much." Edward again tries to get some words in, but I quickly fist his shirt, pulling him out of the doorway, and push him up against the opposite wall—gently, of course. I hold him in place by his shoulders, and he's completely stilled by the threatening look on my face. Lifting one of my hands, I form a slight claw—wiggling my fingers—in front of his abdomen. I then drop the threatening facade and display a conspiratory smile. His eyes widen in surprise when he realizes what is actually about to happen.

"No, no, no—" His plea is cut short when my hands attack his ribs and stomach emitting peals of laughter from him, and he falls to the floor. I follow him, continuing my form of punishment.

I find it absolutely absurd that I'm wrestling with a human, tickling him, and actually trying not to hurt him, but I'm reveling in every moment of it. Never in the past five years have I done something so fun or playful, and laughter is escaping me just as much as it is Edward.

"No…stop!" He's rolled onto his stomach now, trying to make an escape. I let him crawl away for a moment, allowing him to think he's found safety, but then grab onto his calves and pull him back to me.

"I'm not d one with you yet," I tell him while jabbing my fingers under his arms. The action causes more screams from him, and he rolls onto his back, trying to push me away with his hands.

I collect his wrists and push his arms over his head and continue tickling with my free hand as he squirms, kicks, and pleads.

After another moment, my attack on him relents, but I still hold his wrists to the floor, and Edward tries to catch his breath.

"That is so not fair," he complains.

"What isn't fair?"

"Taunting you was so much easier when you weren't strong enough retaliate," he explains.

I release his wrists and place my hands on the floor on either side of his face, leaning over him so we're at eye level.

"Oh, really? Could this maybe be karma paying you a well deserved visit?" The vein in his neck pulses visibly as his heart rate tries to slow down. His skin is flushed, his cheeks pink, and he looks delicious.

"Bella?" he asks with some concern in his voice. I think he notices the change in my features.

I lean away from him and sit upright. "Sorry," I apologize. "But it's your fault. You look too scrumptious." I'm hoping that he can accept my teasing on the subject of thirsting for him now. I'm getting tired of scaring him, and I don't want him to have to worry about it.

He pushes himself up with his hands, now sitting with his knees bent.

"Let me make sure I understand," he hedges. "_You_ attack me, torturing me until I'm screaming and flustered, getting my blood pressure to fly through the roof, and it's _my_ fault that it's too tempting for you?"

"Yes," I state matter-of-factly. "It's always the man's fault, you should know that. Now, just apologize, buy me some flowers, and we can move on."

Edward chuckles and shakes his head. When his eyes come back to mine a smile tugs at his lips and a look of satisfaction settles on his face.

"What?" I ask, wanting to know what he's thinking.

"You're different." I'm puzzled because he's told me multiple times that I haven't really changed. "What I mean is, you're confident. I've never seen you like that. You were always more on the timid side, and I tried to get you to come out of your shell more, but you were a bit resistant. It makes me happy to see you like this. You should be confident."

I smile…again. I can't even count the many ways he has made me smile in the last twenty-four hours. Knowing that he's happy with me, even with the things that have changed, makes me feel good. I laugh at myself thinking about the absurdity of wanting approval from a human, and how I don't even care that it's absurd.

I'm about to ask him to explain his tattoo again, but I'm deterred by an aggressive knock at the door.

"Who do you think that is?" I ask him.

"I don't know," he responds, puzzled.

"Who else has a key to the building besides Emmett?"

"Everyone."

"Your whole family has keys to your place?"

"Yeah, it was a stipulation for living on my own."

I understand immediately. His family likes to keep tabs on him.

Running to the door, I check the view in the peep hole. I recognize the woman standing on the other side from pictures Edward showed me, and I run back to the hall where he has made his way to his feet.

"It's Rosalie," I tell him.

"Shit." His body sags. "I wonder what Emmett told her."

"Don't answer the door. Maybe she'll go away," I suggest, seeing the discomfort that the notion of talking to the beautiful blonde brings him.

"No. I'd better talk to her. Can you behave and not throw her across the kitchen? Because I can just about guarantee that she won't be completely civil, and I'd prefer you to stay if you can."

"I'll hide if you want me to."

"Promise me that you won't show yourself, no matter if she yells at me, hits me, or makes me cry. All of those scenarios are plausible."

"She can make you cry?" I ask, stifling my smile, again unsuccessfully. Edward smiles, too.

"No. She'll probably be hostile, but that's just her way. You don't need to react the way you did with Emmett."

"I'll stay out of the way, I swear," I promise, not wanting to make another mistake with one of his family members. I probably caused enough trouble with his brother, which is probably why Rosalie has even showed up in the first place. Edward told me that she is never the first person to show concern about him; he's probably right in his assessment that this won't be a friendly visit. I'll have to just deal with whatever she dishes out, hoping that the part of me that dictates that I protect my mate from any unpleasant thing doesn't cause me to act out a second time.

The knocking at the door sounds again, followed by Rosalie's clipped tone. "Edward, I'm only not using my key to your apartment as a courtesy, but there's a time limit on that."

I gently push Edward toward the door. "Go."

He nods and walks away from me, and he looks back to me after a few steps.

"I'm not going anywhere," I tell him.

He nods again, and then straightens his posture as he disappears into the kitchen. I move to a place in the living room that will give me a view of the confrontation that's about to take place. Just because I promised not to interfere doesn't mean that I have stay uninformed.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed. Leave a review and let me know. Sorry it wasn't longer, but I didn't want to keep anyone waiting yet another week. Next chapter will be soon. <strong>

**Feel free to follow me on twitter for story updates and occasional nonsensical observations. LwE17  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**And we're back! You will notice that this chapter is kind of short, but that is because I had split chapter 5 into two, so that you could get something earlier in the week. I felt too bad for the wait. But I'm hoping that the chapter's content makes up for it...**

**As always, much love to my most favorite beta ever, ChloeCougar, who is an absolute joy to work with.**

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters. I own a few BD2 movie cups that I perused the empty theater for after a viewing of the film. No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

><p>BPOV<p>

Edward opens the door and Rosalie wastes no time barreling inside. He makes no mention of her rudeness, showing no expectation for better behavior. She glances around the kitchen quickly, and then starts to make her way through the cabinets, opening and closing every door.

"Where is it?" she demands.

"Where's what?" he responds, confused.

"Cut the shit. We both know that Emmett shouldn't have left it here."

Edward blanches at the statement, now looking nervous—Rosalie notices.

"What did you do?" she asks, again demanding.

He stutters before saying, "Nothing."

"You are the worst liar in the world. Now, where the fuck is it?"

I have no idea what she's looking for, but I do know that I want to rip this woman to shreds. Hearing how she addresses my mate infuriates me. I'm hoping that the growls emanating from me are too low to make their way to the kitchen.

"I can't believe you still haven't learned to tame your mouth," Edward says icily.

Rosalie raises her eyebrow at him and smirks. "I've never had _any_ complaints from your brother about my mouth."

"Ugh, I don't want to hear stuff like that." He shrinks away from her and she smiles, happy to have made him uncomfortable.

She continues her perusal of the kitchen as Edward maintains his nervousness, and she finally finds what she's looking for in the garbage. Anger like I've never seen emits from her as she pulls the tall glass bottle out of the bin and places it on the counter.

"Care to explain?" she seethes.

Edward looks at the empty whiskey bottle, biting his lip. "It's not what you think," he mumbles.

My teeth clench when I see him display this insecurity. I hate that she does that to him. I wonder if all his family members make him feel like he needs to justify his every decision and thought just to set them at ease. No wonder he feels responsible for their happiness. They've probably convinced Edward that he's the one that makes them unhappy. My fingers clench further into my palms and I can understand why he moved an hour away from his home.

Rosalie rolls her eyes. "It's not what I think?" Edward shakes his head. "You didn't drink all this?" she asks, pointing to the bottle.

"No."

"Bullshit!"

"It's not bullshit! I didn't drink it!" he yells, and I smile at the fact that he is defending himself.

"Let's look at your track record, shall we?" Rosalie replies condescendingly, and Edward looks away from her, becoming annoyed. "There have been eleven times that you have been left unsupervised with liquor, and you have abused it every time. Need I remind you of the alcohol poisoning scares of two-thousand-nine, ten, and eleven? There's a reason for the no-liquor-in-Edward's-apartment rule. You promised your parents that you wouldn't keep it here, and that if Emmett brings it over, he has to take it home. And you have demonstrated the reason for that rule extremely well."

Rosalie's statement confirms my earlier theory that Edward may have become dependent on alcohol since my attack. I'm very glad that I decided to dump the whiskey. However, now he has to try to explain its disappearance which, for someone who has trouble lying, looks to be very difficult. I feel the need to go help him but lock myself in place. I promised.

"I didn't drink it," Edward says with menace.

"Then who did?" she asks, matching his tone. He only points to the sink. "The sink drank it?"

He rolls his eyes. "It got poured down the sink."

"You want me to believe that you willingly threw away liquor? Come on, now."

"Rosalie!" he exclaims, exasperated. "Look at me. Are my eyes bloodshot? It's ten o'clock in the fucking morning. I'm showered, dressed, shaved, and coherent. If I drank that whole bottle I'd be wrapped around the toilet right now nursing the mother of all hangovers. Use your fucking head."

She looks stunned and appropriately put in her place by his words.

"You really dumped it down the sink?" she asks, looking for confirmation. Edward shrugs, probably not wanting to lie, and she sighs.

"Fine." She relents, and her eyes dart around the kitchen some more, then to the living room. "You really did unpack. I thought you were making it up when your mother told me this morning about your text."

Wow, Edward's family really does talk about him a lot. I wonder how much of their time is spent coddling him.

Rosalie makes her way to the living room, and I dash to the hallway, watching her inspect my work.

"It actually looks nice," she says, surprised. "You did this?" she queries unbelievingly as he enters the room behind her.

"Would that be so hard to believe?" he replies with a teasing note to his voice. She snorts a laugh in response.

I'm shocked at how quickly they can go from screaming at each other to joking around. They have a very interesting dynamic.

Rosalie takes a seat on the couch and crosses her long legs. Edward politely joins her.

"So, Emmett has been acting really strange since he came home from here yesterday. Any idea what that's all about?"

She is all business, this one. Not even a 'hi' or a 'how are you doing'. My teeth clench again.

"It's Emmett. You really need an explanation?" he asks, avoiding the question. Rosalie lets out a small chuckle.

"Not usually, but this is really different. He won't talk about yesterday at all. He won't answer any questions about you. And he's really jumpy; the slightest noise scares him. I've never seen him act like that. Did he mention anything strange to you?" she asks, seeming actually concerned.

"No, nothing," Edward answers.

"That's odd, because he said it's your fault. He also said that he doesn't want to come back here, and that your emo ass can rot forever alone because he's done with you," Rosalie comments, the concern gone from her tone. "Usually, I wouldn't worry myself with a feud between you two, but he's never said anything that severe, so I'm a little concerned."

"Well, you don't have to be." Edward tries to brush her off. She sighs indignantly.

"Tell me about the girl."

Edward's eyes open a bit wider, but he quickly composes himself. "There is no girl," he refutes.

Damn, he really is a bad liar.

"Is she still here?"

"What did I just say?" he answers with his own question.

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"

"Do I ever?" he asks in a low tone, looking at his hands. Rosalie sighs again.

"Look, I know I've never been the easiest person for you to get along with, but I'm really worried right now. You can talk to me, and I'll behave, I swear."

"There's nothing to talk about."

I can tell Edward's statement only angers Rosalie more, but she keeps herself composed. She reaches her hand out to his face and turns it toward her so she can look him in the eye, and she holds his gaze, searching, for a few moments. I bite on my tongue so that I don't roar at her for touching my mate.

"You don't have to be a lost cause, you know," she states, moving her hand from his cheek.

"Who said I was?" he asks with offense. She only drops her gaze from him and fiddles with her fingers.

"Edward," she says, bringing her eyes back to him. "You're important to me. Your happiness is important to me."

"I am happy," he says; the emotion her statement causes him shows on his face. He's obviously moved by it.

"You haven't been happy since high school," she challenges.

"I'm happy now."

"You are? All of a sudden, you're happy?" she asks disbelievingly, and he nods. "What has you so happy?"

"Opportunity," he answers immediately.

"What opportunity?"

"Just, the fact that I now understand that opportunities exist," he explains, wistful. I smile at his statement, knowing that I'm the one who has made him happy.

"Yes, they do. You have a million opportunities, Edward. I'm glad you finally realize that." She smiles at him, and he reciprocates. "You'll make everything right with Emmett?" she asks him.

"I'll make everything right. It was just a misunderstanding, really."

"Well, it was a huge misunderstanding then. He's never acted like this."

"He'll get over it."

"You won't tell me anything about it?" she hedges, wanting to know what has her husband so worked up.

"It's between me and him," Edward states vaguely.

"Then at least tell me something about this girl Emmett thinks you're hiding."

"What girl?" he asks, pretending he doesn't know what she's talking about, but the small smile that crosses his face before he speaks gives him away.

"Oh, there's definitely a girl," Rosalie replies not fooled. "Well, tell her thank you from me, for making you believe in opportunity." She gets up from the couch and Edward smiles again, and she doesn't miss it. "You really like her."

Edward looks at her nervously. He probably thought she wouldn't see his face while she moved.

"I'll keep your secret for you, if that's what you want," she offers, and Edward nods. "But you owe me."

"Okay," he agrees quietly, and she chuckles at him.

She moves to the kitchen and Edward follows her; I come out of my place in the hallway so that I can keep my view of them.

"I have to go to work," she says as she picks up the empty whiskey bottle and throws it back in the trash. "I'm really proud of you." She gestures to the bin and Edward clams up at the undeserved praise, knowing that he was in the process of drinking the bottle when I caught him.

Rosalie slings her purse onto her shoulder and opens the door. "Talk to Emmett, ASAP," she commands before she leaves.

"As soon as he's willing."

"I'll say something to him."

"Good luck."

"I don't need it. I can be very persuasive when it comes to your brother," she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Oh, ew. Go. Just go."

She chuckles again. "Bye, Edward. Bye, Edward's new girlfriend, in case you're here!" she calls out, and she's gone.

"Well, that went better than I thought it would," I say, now standing at Edward's side. He jumps, but seemingly not as startled as before. "Getting used to it?"

"Yeah." He smiles down at me.

"You two have an interesting relationship," I muse.

"We've always been a little push and pull, you could say. We do care about each other, though."

"I can see that, but it's really hard not to wring her neck."

Edward laughs. "Yes, at times, it can be. So what do you want to do today?"

"Whatever you want to do is fine."

"Hm, I don't think so. You'll end up killing me if we do what I want to do," he says boldly.

I stare at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed, unable to believe what he's just said. He's acted so much like a gentleman, and hearing him say those words is very shocking…but not unwelcome. I'm glad to know that I'm not alone with my physical feelings.

Knowing that he wants what I do only builds my desire more. I want so badly to give him what he wants; denying him feels as though it could be physically painful. What I feel for him makes me want to see him happy, and if being intimate with him will make him happy, then that's what I want to do for him. But I can't do it at the cost of his life. I need to ease into it...become accustomed to what he feels like. There have been gentle touches of our hands throughout the night, but anything more than that will take getting used to.

Looking him straight in the eyes I command severely, "Don't move."

I lightly take his right wrist in my hand and slowly bring it closer to me, taking a step closer to him. Edward's breathing drops and his heart rate starts to accelerate, making the exercise that much more difficult. I do my best to ignore the way his blood calls to me and only concentrate on what I'm trying to accomplish.

When I feel that I'm in enough control, I lift his wrist to my face, gently inhaling the powerful scent coming from it. Holding my lips closed tightly, I lightly run my nose over the visible veins, causing my throat to contract and burn with want. I imagine sinking my teeth into them, allowing me to drink freely from Edward's body; the image is extremely appealing, and I need to redirect it before I act it out. So, instead, I think about what drinking from him would look like and imagine his face crumpled in pain, screams and sobs working their way from his throat, and him thrashing and trying to pull away from me. Finally, I imagine his dead, lifeless eyes that would come as a result of my feeding, and how it would make me feel to know that I was the one who caused his pain and his death.

I smile into his wrist when I feel my instincts start to pull in another direction. The monster inside me now recognizes its mate and the danger that giving in to the thirst would have him in. It's not happy with the revelation, but allows rational thought to overpower the need for blood at the moment. I try to feel the horror at losing Edward at my own hands, and the monster shrinks even further away.

Letting his right wrist fall back to his side, I now pick up the left and repeat the process, trying to desensitize myself from the bloodlust. This time, I allow my lips to part and bring in his scent through both my nose and mouth, causing the burn in my throat to more than double, and I tremble lightly at the need to _take_. My breath comes a little more raggedly as I try to regain control that is desperately trying to slip away. I force the image of killing Edward to the forefront of my mind, picturing his agonized cries and pleas for me to stop. Pain accompanies the image, and I make myself feel it. I make myself feel the loss of my mate and my trembling stops—the monster relenting again.

My nose is running along Edward's wrist when I finally meet his eyes. With parted lips and his gaze intense, his breaths are coming quickly and shallowly, while adrenaline courses through his veins accompanying the blood. His face is beautiful, and the love I have for him fills me to the point that I feel complete. I still have yet to tell him, but I think my eyes unknowingly communicate my feelings when a breath leaves him sharply and my name falls softly from his lips.

"Shh," I gently mutter. I need him to be still and quiet, and he seems to understand. My nose passes over a raised ridge and I recognize his scars, causing me to picture his blood draining from his self-inflicted wound. The burn intensifies again when I think about the freely running fluid from his veins, but I make myself understand that blood seeping from his wrist is not meant to feed me but to kill him, and it would cause me to feel a pain so strongly that I'd want to cease to exist. The monster, again, shrinks away at the thought, and I smile slightly in triumph.

Holding Edward's gaze, I close and pucker my lips, bringing them to his wrist, and I very slowly place a soft, feather-light kiss to the wound that was meant to free him from his misery. He hasn't yet told me the story of when he cut his wrist open, but my action has a powerful effect on him. His eyes close tightly for a moment, and stuttered breaths leave his nose as his throat contracts. When he looks at me again, I know that he understands the symbolism of my gesture.

Stepping closer to him, I lightly release his wrist, and gently and slowly place my hands on his shoulders. His hands automatically go to my hips in what feels like a very well practiced motion.

"Easy," I whisper as a command. He nods and fists into my shirt, making sure that he has a solid hold to prevent him from having wandering hands.

Very lightly and slowly sliding my hands across his shoulders, I try to get used to feeling him, and the new desire starts to overwhelm me. I close my eyes for moment to concentrate on reminding myself to be gentle—use light touches. After a deep breath, my eyes reopen, and I stand up on the tips of my toes.

My right hand slides to his neck, allowing me to feel the pulse that is hammering through the artery, and I swallow back the venom that pools in my mouth. I pull him gently to me until his throat is at my face, and I can repeat the same exercise that I used on his wrists. I start with a closed mouth and quash the burn before I allow myself to pull his scent through my lips. It's so much stronger here, and my control is harder to find, but I let my nose run up and down his skin anyway. Edward's hands pull tighter and I can smell both fear and excitement filling him. He wants this but is aware of the danger. I think about the danger, imagining his scream of pain if my teeth were to dig into his neck. Control slowly starts to come back to me.

I now lightly trail my lips up his throat and taste his scent as it fills me. Edward shudders at the feel of my mouth on him, and I almost lose it. I tamp down the desire to feed with the desire for him to live. Taking a few deep breaths, I mentally prepare myself for what I'm about to do. I imagine my lips on his and the joy it would bring the both of us. I visualize a soft, easy kiss that ends with me pulling away and us smiling at each other. I tell the monster that this _is_ what's going to happen.

My left hand slides to the back of Edward's head, pulling him to me, and I let my mouth hover in front of his for a few moments. Slowly, I let the velvet of his lips slide lightly over mine, and I pull away, taking a calming deep breath before I allow us to meet again. Both of us have our mouths parted and we let them close against each other when come back together. Falling into the kiss, Edward molds his lips to mine and I'm so strongly hit with a barrage of images that completely take over every part of my mind.

I pull away with a startled gasp as I'm able to look at Edward through different eyes—eyes that have seen him before. I stare into the face of this beautiful boy who has grown into a man, before I recklessly pull his lips back to mine, throwing caution to the wind. His body meets mine with and "oof" spilled from his mouth, but otherwise, he doesn't protest.

My lips pull at his greedily while my mind is pulling the memories that I so desperately crave free. The stories that Edward told me last night now flood my mind as vivid images. I can see everything he so carefully took the time to explain. I can see him; I see Edward…I remember him. Kissing him used to feel exactly like this.

I cling to him even harder as the feeling of missing him for the past five years overwhelms me, but his body stiffens and a sharp groan sounds from his chest. _He's hurting_.

Immediately, I release him and my hands fly to my mouth. My breathing is harsh and sobs try to make their way out of me.

"Are you hurt?" I ask, worried.

"No, I'm fine," he says with his eyebrows pulled together, probably confused about what just happened. I feel better that no damage has been done to him, but the sobs don't stop and I can't calm down. I'm both elated and overwhelmed.

"What's wrong?" Edward asks, concern overtaking him.

"Kissing you…it was a trigger. A big one."

* * *

><p><strong>Fun chapter? Hope it was worth the wait.<strong>

**I want to say thank you to both the readers and reviewers out there. Thank you for sticking with the story. Your reviews have been invaluable to me! Writing is a brand new endeavor for me, and I very much want to get better at it, so whatever feedback you're willing to give I greatly appreciate! **

**I try very hard to reply to each review. I will admit that, for me, the FanFiction pm-ing can look a bit confusing, and it can be hard for me to judge which reviews I've replied to already, and which ones I haven't. So if I miss replying to your review I apologize. Please know that I don't do it intentionally. If you take the time to write a review, I believe that you at least deserve a thank you :)**

**Until next time...**

**Next chapter off to beta either tonight or this weekend.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Welcome to chapter 7! Thank you for waiting patiently. My beautiful beta, Chloe Cougar, has been very busy, but I respect her time and encourage her to work at whatever pace works for her. Why, you ask? Because I love her.  
><strong>

**I hope this chapter is worth the wait. I'm a little nervous about it, for no reason other than I'm a new author and don't know what to expect concerning reactions of the readers. I really hope that I'm doing a good job for you guys. Nothing is more horrible than reading boring and predictable stories. I appreciate all your feedback! All of it is helpful. An extra thank you to my reviewers. **

**I hope you enjoy the chapter! I sure enjoyed enjoyed writing it.**

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and it's characters. I own a Cullen Crest lapel pin, but alas, I have no lapel to put it on. No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

><p><em>When last we left, Bella had ruined some eggs, Edward wore a towel, there was a tickle fight, and Rosalie paid a visit to Edward inquiring about an empty whiskey bottle. We found that Rosalie really does care for Edward and that she's happy to hear that he is now happy about opportunity. She suspects that a new girlfriend is involved.<em>

_Bella finds that she can't not give her mate what he wants and found a way to garner enough control to at least kiss Edward. But in doing so she received more than the joy of sharing a kiss with her mate; she received memories of Edward._

EPOV

Four days have passed since the kiss that released a good portion of Bella's memories of me. That day may be classified as the new happiest day of my life. At first, her sobs had worried me; she had me thinking that she was in regretting her actions, but when she told me that she remembered me, the only way I could respond was by grabbing her, holding on tight, and telling her over and over again that I was never letting her go. She had clung to me—sometimes painfully—promising me the same thing. I could no longer remain standing when the words "I've missed you so much" poured from her mouth, and we crumpled to a heap on the floor. I peppered her face with light kisses as she continued to cry in my arms, and she reciprocated—not as enthusiastically, though, probably wanting to keep her baser instincts in check. It was the sweet reunion that I'd always longed for but never thought I would have.

Not every memory was unlocked, however. She still doesn't remember the day we met, our first time together, the day she got attacked, and a plethora of other events. Most of the things she recalls are things that I've already told her about. If I start to tell her a story, sometimes she will remember and be able to finish it for me. There have been a few times that she has come to me with something that popped into her mind, excited that she saw something all on her own. I've also given her clues to some details that I challenge her to remember. She'll take a few minutes or an hour to meditate on the clue, and most of the time she gets it right. The restoration of her memory is an interesting work in progress.

One thing that has her stuck, though, is the book that she remembers keeping in my dresser drawer. She's grown frustrated trying to recall what it was about, but I still refuse to tell her. I want to see the look on her face when she remembers.

We've been holed up in my apartment everyday talking, reminiscing, and holding each other—one of us only leaving when I start to run out of food. Unfortunately, Bella is reluctant to kiss me as much as she said she would like to—or we would be doing more of that—without putting me in danger, and I respect and trust her judgment with no complaints, but greedily accept every time she wants to test her control the way she did the first time. I'm willing to let her experiment as much as she wants to, but her experiments have dwindled to being almost non-existent since yesterday—along with the red color in her eyes. Our almost constant contact has caused her thirst to quickly grow too intensely for the closeness the exercises require. It's time for her to feed. _My girlfriend needs to go drink someone's blood._ I don't know if I'll ever get used to that idea. When I try to picture Bella latched onto a person's neck, drinking them dry, I can't see it very well. I think I might be in denial about it. I'm just happy to have her back, which is making it hard to recognize the reality that is also in front of me.

I know I'd already decided that I would want to become a vampire so that I could join Bella as her equal, but I also know that I'm not truly considering all that it means. I haven't allowed myself to actually imagine the killing I would have to do. It's obvious that killing would be necessary, but my concentration has been focused on the idealism that becoming a vampire would entail. I can't say no to an eternity with Bella, and I don't think anything could convince me to turn that down. The fact that I'm willing to say yes to murder to get what I want frightens me; I never thought myself so callous. When the time comes, I hope Bella is agreeable to my idea of being more conscious of our choices of food.

We are standing in my kitchen as she prepares to leave for her hunt. My gut twists and my heart clenches at the sight of her getting ready to leave. I'm not handling the idea of separation from her very well; it's going to take some time to heal from the pain of losing her. I've given her a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses to wear around the city—now that she knows that she grew up only an hour away she doesn't want to take the risk of anyone recognizing her. She's been incredibly lucky to have lain low the past two years. I've also told her about the investigation her feeding rituals have caused, and the thought of her father, or even one of his coworkers seeing her is too much for her to deal with. We decide that she needs to stop eating in Port Angeles, so she is going to travel to another town, which will have her away from me for far too long. She thinks going as far as Seattle would be the wisest thing to do, given the situation.

"Are you sure you don't want to take my car?" I ask her as she pulls her hair up to shove under the cap. She huffs out a laugh.

"Please, I can run way faster than you _car_."

"I'd like to see that," I tell her.

She immediately disappears and reappears only a moment later.

"I just ran to your bedroom and back. Could your car do it that fast?"

"No, I guess not. I just thought it would look more exciting than that," I say with mock disappointment.

She finishes putting on the hat and slides into my denim jacket that is far too baggy on her, successfully hiding her figure.

"Tell you what," she starts while moving her hands to my shoulders. "You can drive your _car_ as fast as you can down the highway, and I'll keep pace right at your window. Will that be exciting enough?" she asks with a light kiss to my chin.

"If you wear a Wonder Woman costume at the same time, then yeah."

She barks out a laugh then gently wraps her arms around me, and I follow suit. She's so easily fallen back into fulfilling the role of my girlfriend. After the kiss that woke Sleeping Beauty, as I call it, Bella had to reconcile who she already knew herself to be with the person that she was remembering. I didn't think that she'd acclimatize as quickly as she did, assuming that she would be more likely to resist this new unknown world she was remembering, but she wanted nothing more than to dive right into it. She had been robbed of a beautiful life, and by some miracle, that beautiful life was being delivered back to her. She's determined to grab on with both hands and not let it go. I shouldn't have been too surprised, though. She's always given her whole self to anything she's done.

"Do you have your phone?" I ask, wanting to make sure that our communication won't be completely cut off while she's gone. The other day, when she told me that she would have to travel further for her meals, I immediately ordered her her own iPhone. Only the best for my Bella.

Of course, in true Bella fashion, she argued that it was too much and that she didn't need all the bells and whistles, because it wasn't as if she would use all the social media capacities the phone has. I managed to sway her when I showed her the maps app that would show her the way around Seattle; how she can browse the internet any time she feels bored; the countless books she can download on the _Kindle _app; and the music collection that I added from my computer. Her competitive side came out when I showed her the _Words With Friends_ app and that we could play _Scrabble_ back and forth; she was very excited about that. But I was quite surprised that what completely had her sold was _Angry Birds_. There were a couple times when I woke up in the middle of the night hearing "Ka-caw!" and the sound of wood and glass being broken. I'd created and addict.

"Yeah, it's in the zipper pouch in my bag, for safe keeping," she answers.

"Good. Use it if you have to. Or even if you just want to."

"I'll miss you today," she tells me softly.

"You have no idea," I say back to her as I pull in a lungful of her scent. She smells similar, and yet different to the way she used to, but no less intoxicating.

"What will you do today?" she inquires, wanting to know that I'll be taking care of myself while she's gone.

"I was thinking of seeing my family since I've been practically avoiding them this week. My dad has most Sunday's off, so both my parents will be home. I wouldn't doubt that all my siblings will be there," I explain, hoping that she won't feel guilty for leaving me alone.

"That's a good idea," she says while pulling her arms from around me and lightly pushing me away. "I better go." The closeness is proving difficult for her.

She picks up her messenger bag and heads for the door. "I'll be as quick as I can, but I'll be gone most of the day."

I nod while letting myself actually think about what it is she is setting out to do. There is someone in Seattle that won't get the chance to see another sunrise, won't get another chance to see their family, or won't ever again be able to enjoy the embrace of their loved one. The idea that someone will die so that my vampire girlfriend can better control herself for me fills me with guilt. Part of me wants to tell Bella to just kill me instead, that no one's life is worth my safety. But even if she did feed from me today, she would have to feed again next week, and the week after that, and so on. I can't stop the toll of death that follows her around.

Bella reaches for the door knob, but I stop her.

"Can I ask you something?" I inquire nervously. Bella nods, waiting for my question. "Who…how do you choose who to kill?"

Bella is taken aback by the question, and she looks a little reluctant to answer. "I just…I guess it's kind of random. I'm not very picky."

Her answer makes me imagine all of the people she has already killed. I wonder how many were goodhearted and loving, and how many had so much to live for, the way that she did when she was attacked. The thought of someone being forced to lose the same thing I did five years ago is heartbreaking, and I don't wish the pain I experienced on anyone.

"Can you be? I mean, would you be?" I request, hoping that I'm not being insulting in any way. I'm not sure what the protocol for discussing meal choices with vampires is.

"What do you mean?" she asks, confused.

I swallow before I answer. "There are good people out there—people that don't deserve to die."

Her expression quickly changes to one that I haven't seen directed at me in over five years, but I recognize it immediately. I've made her angry.

"Do I deserve to be what I am?" she asks impatiently.

"I didn't mean—,"

"Do I deserve to be what I am?!" she interrupts me, her anger escalating. "You, of all people, should know that life doesn't dish out a winning hand to everyone—only a select few. The rest of the world gets shit on. Bad things happen to good people every day, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it. I'm a vampire, Edward. My purpose is to kill, whether it be good or bad people. If I was only supposed to kill bad people, I would only thirst for bad people. But I don't. I thirst for everyone, including you, and it's a miracle you're even alive."

"I'm sorry that I upset you," I offer, needing to fix this immediately. I could never stand it when she was angry with me, not to mention how she is now utterly frightening when angered. "I'm not judging you. I just want to understand. If I was in your position, and I had to kill to stay alive, I'd carefully choose who to feed from. If I was able to pick a murderer, or a rapist, or a terrorist to take off this planet, then I would."

"Well, that's you, not me," she argues, seeming uncomfortable with the conversation.

"Yes it is. Have you learned nothing about yourself this week? You're loving and caring. You've always put the needs of others before your own. You're a good person."

"I'm a vampire!"

"That term is only a reference to your diet. It's not who you are. You still make choices. You do get to choose whose blood you drink. And you, of all people, should now know what good people have to live for, and how it affects the people that love them when they needlessly die. I'd think you'd want to be more judicious and not inflict that pain on someone else."

Her head drops to her hand and she scrubs at her face as she sighs. "It's not that easy. You don't understand what the urges are like," she explains, trying to show patience with me. "When you look at someone or their scent hits you, you'll know that you need to drink from them. It's not always a conscious choice. There's an instinctual draw that tells you who to kill. It's not as easy as choosing who you think is deserving of death, because the truth is no one is. Everyone _deserves_ life and second chances, but not everyone is gifted with them."

"Do you enjoy it—the killing?" I ask, morbidly curious.

"Honestly…no," she says, her tone softening. "I really don't, but I've made myself become numb to it. I try not to think about what it is I'm doing. When the blood is finally pouring down my throat it becomes really easy to forget that someone is dying. Drinking blood is euphoric. Think about how pleasurable sex is, then multiply that pleasure at least ten times. That's how satisfying drinking is."

I'm sure my eyes are wide as I contemplate a pleasure that intense, but I come up short. I can't imagine anything better than sex. I hear a soft giggle come from Bella, probably because of my expression.

"So if you had another option, besides killing, would you take it?"

"Moot point; I don't have another option. I am what I am."

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you feel—,"

"It's okay," she interrupts again. "I understand why you would ask. I'm not mad at you." I nod and she takes a step closer to me, reaching her hand to my cheek. "You're a good person, Edward; you always were." She smiles softly and steps back to the door. "I'll see you later. Go see your family."

"I will."

"Tell them I said hello."

"Yeah, sure," I say after snorting a laugh.

"Wait," I call out again as Bella reaches for the door a second time. "Are you sure…you're remembering sex correctly?" I ask when I have her attention. "Because, from what I remember it's pretty spectacular."

She appears in front of me with her arms quickly around my neck, her fingers in my hair, and a smirk on her face. I melt into the familiar feeling of being held by the love of my life—a feeling I thought was lost to me.

"That's hard to say. Amnesia or not, human memories can be a little fuzzy for us vampires," she explains.

"Oh?"

She sensuously slides one hand down my neck, over my shoulder, and stops below my chest—the most daring move she's tried on me yet. I fight the urge to reciprocate her touch.

"I'll tell you what," she starts as her hand slowly traces back up to my neck and she pulls herself up to my face to whisper against my lips. "One day, when I've perfected my control, I'll let you refresh my memory."

"How, um…how long do you think that'll take?" I ask quietly, fighting to keep my hands still on her hips.

She frowns before saying, "Too long," and then she pulls my lips gently to hers.

I hold her as tightly as I can while she kisses me, which I've learned that to her barely feels like anything at all. After the statement she just made I really don't want to let her go, but as expected she pulls away from me far too soon.

"I _really_ need to go now," she says breathlessly, and moves to the door.

"Okay, but when you get back, we're working on your control," I tell her with mock sternness.

Bella smiles and shakes her head before blowing a kiss at me and walking out the door.

After she leaves I gather my keys, wallet, and phone, and I'm out the door myself, needing to distract myself from her absence as soon as possible. As much as I hate being without her, I'm glad for this chance not only to see my family, but to see someone else who is in need of a visit from me. Since finding out the truth about Bella's survival I've found it difficult to control my anger when I think about Jacob Black and how the lies he told me about her dying affected my life and the lives of my family members. If he would have told me the truth, things would have worked out a lot differently for my parents and siblings, and if his lies are the reason that my family wasted the last five years of their lives coddling me, well then, that kid owes me.

It's not long before I realize that the speed I'm traveling down the 101 is not meant for safe residential driving, but more for qualifying on a race track, and I let the car decelerate to a more acceptable speed.

All I can think of are the answers I want as I make the right-hand turn onto the 110 right before the city limits of Forks start. What else does Jake know that I don't? If he told me one lie, how many more are there? I can't help but think there is a lot more to the tale he spun to me than what he admitted—or made up. How can I know if any of it was the truth? Maybe he and the other wolves never even killed the vampire that turned Bella, either. Maybe that was just another lie to put me at ease and to get me to stop asking questions.

My fingers grip the steering wheel tighter as the trees fly past me and the cloud cover becomes more dense the closer I get to the coastline of La Push and its beaches. Everything I want to say and accuse Jacob of is rapidly flying through my mind, and I hope that I'm able to articulate it all without my anger making it come out in a garbled mess. He had no right to tell me anything but the truth about _my_ girlfriend. If his jealousy played any part in why he told me what he did I _will_ find a way to kill him. Our difference in species has me at a huge disadvantage if it were to come to fight between us. Perhaps I can convince Bella to kill him for me. That would be a fulfilling irony.

After a few more turns, I'm pulling up with an aggressive stop at the tiny red house that I've been to only a handful of times. I opt for parking on the side of the street rather than the small strip of muddied ground the Black's try to pass as a driveway. My newly washed silver fenders will thank me later.

The slamming of my car door attracts the attention of someone in the house, and I see Billy Black back away from the swaying curtain in the front window. Only a moment later Jake and a couple of his friends are making their way out of the door. The three of them form a protective stance in front of the house with Jake standing a few paces ahead of the other two. I must not be hiding my anger as well as I'd hoped while marching toward them.

"You lied to me," I accuse before I come to a stop in front of Jacob.

He looks confused as he opens his mouth to respond to me, but his nose wrinkles and his eyes widen before he speaks any words. All three of the tall men stiffen and their eyes dart all around the area, mostly lingering in the area of my car. When their eyes return to me they all look…distrustful.

"You alone?" Jake asks, filled with suspicion. His question confuses me.

"Do you see anyone with me?" I ask condescendingly. His eyes narrow at me and he huffs an angry sigh.

Looking over his left shoulder, Jake nods at his friend—Embry, I think—and the man runs quickly to my car. After a quick look in the windows, Embry looks back to Jake and shakes his head before making his way back.

"Are there some weird, new security measures you're taking now that I have yet to be informed of?" I ask, annoyed at the whole display.

"I wouldn't say they're new, but when you come here reeking like vampire, we tend to get a little suspicious," he says, causing my eyes to widen in surprise. _They can smell Bella on me?_ I've been away from her for almost an hour. Freaking dog senses. "Care to explain?" he asks, leaning over me and folding his arms across his chest.

I hate the confidence that he's been able to show over me ever since he turned into a werewolf. He was always more on the shy end with his personality. He wasn't happy with me when I started dating Bella, but he was also never rude. The two years in age that I have on him were more intimidating when I was a junior in high school and he was only a freshman. I was always civil toward him—him being a good friend to Bella—and I knew he liked her and was jealous, but she made her choice. I had nothing to worry about. It wasn't until early in my senior year that Jake had the growth spurt to end all growth spurts and became almost twice my size. Of course, at the time, none of us had any idea what really brought on his transformation. His attitude changed along with his body, and the Jacob that Bella had endeared so much no longer existed. When he couldn't convince her to leave me he became rude and hurtful with her, and she was never really able to completely heal from the misplaced rejection. He was outright furious with me. The hate he held for me burned so strongly in his eyes; when he looked at me I could just about feel the death he wished upon me. I have to admit, the kid scared the hell out of me. There was one small scuffle we got into in front of Bella's house, and if Chief Swan hadn't been there I'm sure that Jake would have killed me. His strength overpowered me completely and his attacks were relentless. I still have two small scars on my face from the fight—one just under my lip and the other above my eyebrow—and my nose is a little crooked.

After Bella was attacked, he became more diplomatic with me; I think more out of necessity than anything else. The importance of protecting the secret of his tribe outweighed his hatred of me, and he accepted that responsibility with a maturity that I hadn't known he was capable of. He was patient with me for a long time when I needed explanations of the events I had endured. For a time, he was my greatest ally in dealing with Bella's 'death'. But not all things last forever—especially Jacob Black being civil with me. It wasn't long before we went our separate ways and only ever saw each other in passing.

"No. I'm not explaining shit. You are," I say in a clipped tone. The three men share amused looks with each other.

"He's so adorable when he's mad," the man on Jake's right says in a mocking manner. His words make me see red and I take a step toward him, but Jake's hand flies to my chest and easily pushes me back.

"Easy there, Edward. We don't want you to get hurt, now. Paul, behave," Jake directs over his shoulder, then brings his attention back to me. "Who have you had contact with and where?" he asks.

"That's really only my business. You know what else is my business? The truth about what happened to my girlfriend." Jake's tough-guy façade falls slightly as a look of regret crosses his face. Bella's 'death' greatly hurt him, too. "Would _you_ care to explain?" I ask, throwing his words back at him.

"You were there. I'm pretty sure you already know," he states, looking away. I can tell he's not comfortable with the subject and he's looking to dismiss me. His eyes seem to be focused on nothing as it appears that he's reliving painful memories, but his moment is interrupted when a look of shocked realization shoots across his face. "Get in the house," he orders as he roughly grabs my upper arm and starts dragging me to the door. I know it's futile, but I try to free myself from his painful hold. "Stop resisting. I'm not discussing this outside." He shoves me through his front door and into the living room. After forcing me to sit on the couch he demands, "Where is she?" He stands in front of me, again with his arms folded, like I'm the one that deserves to be interrogated.

"I'm not telling you anything until I get the answers I came here for," I seethe.

"We've been through this numerous times. You already have all the answers," he tells me impatiently.

"You lied! You told me she was dead!"

"She's as good as dead. That's all you needed to know."

I don't recall my conscious decision to attack him, but I find myself on the floor being held down by Paul, while Embry pulls Jacob away from me, warning him to calm down. Billy, Jacob's father, wheels himself into the room and Paul lets me up. Jake stills when Billy addresses him.

"Jacob, you should tell him what he wants to know," Billy instructs.

"He doesn't deserve to know," Jacob retorts.

"Edward is not your enemy. Both of you share a common enemy, and Edward needs your help. A Quileute chief acts with maturity and compassion, and not like the jealous teenager that you're returning to."

"You're the chief of the tribe?" I ask, shocked by the news. Jacob can't be more than twenty-one years old.

"Have been for five years," Jake replies pointedly, but I don't understand what he's trying to hint at.

"Edward, please have a seat," Billy requests. Not wanting to be rude to a man in a wheelchair I sit back on the couch. He looks pointedly at Jacob until he and his friends also sit in various places throughout the room. "What is it you would like to know?" Billy takes his place between me and Jake, obviously wanting to act as a mediator.

"Why did you tell me she was dead?" I choose as my first question.

Jake sighs before answering. "Two reasons: to keep you safe from her, and so that you could move on."

I want to scream at him about how that was not his choice to make, but Billy's eyes on me keep me in check, almost like he's challenging me to lose my temper again. I take a deep breath before I speak.

"That wasn't your choice," I tell him.

"It was my choice. I'm way more informed than you on the matter, and your safety was an issue. She would have killed you the second she saw you, then she would have had to live with the fact that she killed the person she loved. I did it for both of you."

I couldn't quite argue with that logic. I wouldn't want Bella to have to live with that either. Taking another deep breath, I remind myself that Jake does care about Bella, too. The exercise helps me to keep my anger at bay for the moment.

"Did the pack really kill the vampire that changed her?" I ask, wondering if I'd been told any other lies.

"Yes, that's true," he answers.

"What happened after that?"

Jake looks away from me—his features displaying reluctance. "There's a reason that I never told you any of this. Can't you just accept that you're better off not knowing?"

"No. I don't trust your judgment. It's no secret that your plan for me to move on didn't go very well." Secrets like that are basically impossible in a small town like Forks. "It would have gone a lot differently if you would have told me the truth in the first place."

Jacob sighs again. "Fine." He relents. "As you know, there were five of us at the time. Embry stayed with you, Paul and I went after the vampire with the dreadlocks, and Sam and Jared followed the other two."

"They were the ones who took Bella's body." Jacob, Embry, and Paul share a look at my statement. "What?" I ask with suspicion.

"That was a lie. They never took her," Jacob admits.

"Then who did?" I ask with more anger creeping into my voice.

"I did," he tells me.

"Explain," I say, trying not to lose my temper again.

"Sam was the alpha at the time, so he made the decisions and gave the orders. After Paul and I killed the leech that had Bella we were to follow him and Jared to help with the other two. Right before we attacked, the leech dropped her. She lay there, screaming in pain the whole time we were ripping the vampire apart. We knew what was happening with her right away; we knew she was changing. So Sam redirected his orders. I was to follow after the other two vampires while Paul…took care of Bella."

"What does that mean, _took care_ of Bella?" I ask as I narrow my eyes at Paul, and he looks to the floor.

"We can't just let vampires live. And we sure as hell couldn't let a young vampire loose in the area. She would have decimated the whole town. If Bella was turning into a vampire, she had to be killed before she killed anyone else."

"And you just had to stand by and watch?" I ask, disgusted. They were going to kill her—kill _my_ Bella. I remind myself that she is safe and on her way to Seattle right now to help calm myself down. She's fine.

"I cared way too much for her to do that," Jake tells me as if it's obvious. "I couldn't bear to see it happen. Even if I'd fled I would have seen it in Paul's thoughts, and I would have been haunted with watching him kill her over and over again. I couldn't let it happen. So I didn't.

"According to our genetic line I should have been alpha, but I didn't want it. I was too young and didn't want the responsibility, so I let Sam take the lead of the pack. At the moment that I was supposed to leave Paul to the task of killing Bella, I decided that I wanted to be in charge of giving the orders. I decided to take my place as alpha, and I changed everything in that moment. As soon as I made that decision, Sam and Jared actually had to stop their pursuit of the other two vampires because they were no longer following orders given by the alpha, and by the time I realized that I had to order them to continue, the vampires had had enough time to elude them. It's my fault they're still out there, but Bella is still alive. Well…sort of. Anyway, I carried Bella south, almost to Aberdeen, and I stayed with her for a short time. I didn't know how long the change would take and I couldn't risk being there when it was over. I wouldn't have survived.

"Every moment of being with her at that time is burned into my memory. She endured so much pain, her screaming and crying never ceased. I tried to comfort her but she wasn't even aware of my presence. She eventually passed out from the pain, and I left. I had to get back to the pack and to you; you were my next responsibility."

"You saved her," I state softly. Despite the anger I still have toward him, I owe more to Jacob Black than I ever thought I would.

"I saved her," he confirms. "At the cost of every life she has taken and will continue to take, I saved her. It was the stupidest thing I've ever done, but I don't regret it for a second."

"Thank you…for doing what I couldn't," I say with a swallow.

A flash of anger crosses Jacob's face. "Well, she shouldn't have been put in the situation in the first place," he says to me, his words laced with venom.

"Jacob," Billy chastises. "He's innocent."

"How do we know that for sure?" Jacob challenges.

"You're only looking for someone to blame for the friend you lost," Billy explains.

"He is to blame!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!" I exclaim. His words make me lose the grasp I have on my calm.

"It's your fault! If you really want the truth that you're demanding, then you should know that it's because of you that Bella was put in danger in the first place. Why do you think that I didn't want you with her? Why do you think I fought so hard to get her away from you?"

"You were jealous! You wanted her for yourself."

"No, you asshole! It's because they were after you! It should have been you—not Bella. Her just being associated with you put her in danger from them."

His words stop me for a moment, but I can't figure out their meaning. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

"They were stalking _you_. The minute you and Bella became a couple you basically signed her death certificate."

"Why would vampires stalk me?" I ask in disbelief.

"That's between you and them. None of us really ever had a meeting with them to discuss their business in Forks."

"Jake, that doesn't even make any sense. How can you even know they wanted me?"

Jacob was about to lose his temper again, but a stern look from Billy had him pulling in a deep breath before calmly explaining.

"Tell him everything, Jacob," Billy instructs.

"May as well start from the beginning," Jacob says to himself while adjusting his posture. "None of us are born werewolves, but some of us have the necessary gene that allows us to phase when provoked, and that change can only take place between certain ages. For all of us the age can be different. As you already know, the gene is only provoked by the presence of vampires." I nod to show that I remember that from years ago, and he continues, "In early 2004 there were no werewolves on the reservation. Then, in March, Sam phased in his back yard, and the elders of the tribe had a fit. They knew what his turning meant. It was only a couple of weeks later that Paul joined him, and a few months later, Jared."

I look to Paul who is sitting on the ground near me. His eyes are cast to floor, and his face is scrunched in thought. He seems to be reliving a bad memory. I'm guessing he's remembering the first time he phased and the confusion that came with it.

"The elders told them what was then required of them and they started running patrols to look for the bloodsuckers that had to be in the area. They found that the vampires never came on the reservation, but spent a lot of time in Forks. They determined from the scent trails that there were three of them, and finally, in August, they saw them for the first time…in your house."

Jacob gives me a moment to contemplate this information. I can't wrap my head around it. They were in my home…in 2004...I was only fifteen. Bella wasn't even living in Forks at that time. They didn't attack any of us….

"Was my family home at the time?" I ask quickly.

"All but your father. It was in the middle of the night and you were all asleep. The strange thing was that all three of them were in _your_ room. It was easy to see them because of all the big glass walls your house has. They were looking through your things, but when they heard the wolves outside, they fled. Sam, Paul, and Jared chased them out of the area."

I barely hear the last sentence Jacob speaks because I'm still reeling about the fact that three vampires were in my room while I was sleeping, going through all my stuff. What could I possibly have had that they'd want? The thought of my family being home at the time makes me feel sick. What if they would've gotten hurt, or killed? How close to death did any of us get before the wolves interfered? How much more of my life do I owe to Jake and his pack?

"Did they return any time before…the meadow?" I ask quietly, and a bit shakily. I see a look of pity on Embry's face—probably empathetic of my fear.

"Many times," Jacob answers blandly. "Every time they come, it's always your house they try to get to. Most of the time we scare them off before they get there. There have been a handful of times that they've been able to get inside. I think they hope that we'll be gone when they decide to come back, but they don't know that when they decide to return it only causes more of us to phase. They can't get past us anymore. We haven't seen them in about a year, which is the longest they've ever been away. Their absence usually only lasts a couple of months at a time."

"The other two kept coming back?" I ask surprised.

"They're relentless. We caught them in your house again about three years ago. No one was home at the time. The female was in your room, and the male in your dad's office. He was looking behind all the paintings in there, I assume for a safe of some kind. Do you have any idea what they could be after?"

I shake my head. "I haven't a clue," I say softly. Three years ago was when I was in New York attempting college. If the vampires didn't follow me there, then it's not necessarily _me_ they're after, but something I have.

"If they want something from me so badly, why don't they confront me and ask me for it?" I ask, confused.

"Haven't you listened to anything I've said? Because we stop them every time; we don't let them near you. The closest they ever came was in the meadow, and whatever they wanted to do that day went horribly wrong," Jake says regretfully. "Sam made a bad call; we should have been there sooner. We would have been there sooner if he would have listened to me. The vampires split up, and Sam had us chasing the wrong ones."

I try not to think about that bit of information. I don't need someone else to blame for losing Bella. What's done is done, and I have her back. That's what's important.

This whole story puts Jacob's past behavior in a whole new perspective. I can now understand his hatred. He knew what was after me and he was bound into silence; he had no way of warning his friend. If I'd have known, I would have certainly kept Bella at arm's length from me. Jacob should have told me, or at least have told Bella. He should have done more to try to keep her safe. He was the only one who could at the time, and he didn't.

I stand from the couch and pace to the front window. Moving my hands through my hair, I try to calm my breathing and again remind myself that I have Bella back. I don't need to be angry at her loss anymore. However, I do need to realize that the torment that those three vampires brought into my life is probably not over, and that is a fact that I don't want to accept. How safe am I? How safe is my family? Who is going to be the next person that I love that they'll try to take away from me?

"They haven't been back for over a year?" I ask, desperate for confirmation that they may have given up.

"We think they're giving us time, hoping that we'll forget or give up expecting them. It's the only option they have left. We've left them with no other. But don't worry; we won't give up until they're dead."

I turn back toward the men in the living room and relax slightly.

"I should warn you, though," Jake continues. "You moved to Port Angeles. We can't protect you there—not in the city. I'd suggest that you move back home, but considering the fact that you may be harboring your own bodyguard…." He trails off, waiting for me to give him some details.

Thinking about what to tell him, I decide that I don't want to share anything just yet. Old habits die hard and I don't want him to be involved with Bella at all. I also want to get to my family's house as soon as possible. The revelation that they are possibly in constant danger has me a little antsy.

"I have to go," I state, making my way to the door, but a hand wraps around my arm before I reach it.

"Wait," Jake commands. "I told you everything; I think I deserve the same courtesy."

I angrily look to where he's holding me and he lets his hand drop. I think about making a run for it, but I know that he'll easily catch me. Not telling him anything is most likely not an option. I guess he does deserve something for being the one to make sure Bella stayed alive. I do owe him for that.

"I ran into her five days ago. She's staying with me," I offer.

He raises his eyebrows and stares at me expectantly. "And?"

"She's the same, but she's different, too. She didn't remember her life before—only bits and pieces. She's remembering more now, though." I smile, thinking about how the bulk of her memory has been jogged.

"Does she remember me?" he asks carefully.

"She remembers that you were a good friend. She doesn't recall how horrible you were to her after you phased, though." I didn't intend to speak rudely, but it happened anyway. Sadness crosses his features, and I almost feel bad—almost.

"Look, Edward, I know that she's your long lost love and all, but you still need to remember that you're her natural food source. You really need to be careful," he warns.

"Oh, I know," I say with a bit too much intensity, and Jacob's face is disapproving.

"You need to make sure she stays away from the reservation. I don't know how good her control is and I can't put my tribe in danger like that. It wouldn't be right of me to allow her here."

"I understand."

"But I want to see her," he admits, and my anger spikes again. "Eventually. If she's only starting to remember things, then I understand if she needs some time. But I do want to see her. You're not the only one who lost her, you know."

I find it hard to disagree with his logic when I again remind myself that it's him who saved her, and I nod at his statement. "I'll be in touch," I say as I reach for the door.

"If you see anything suspicious that would lead you to believe the others are back in the area, you let me know immediately," Jacob demands.

"I will." And with that I'm out the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Sooooo...what do you think? <strong>

**If you ever have any other questions or want info on chapter updates, you can find me on twitter at LwE17.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Gather 'round, children. It's time for chapter 8. This is the very first time that I have written the Cullens all in one room and it was a lot of fun. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**Giant hugs to my most favorite beta of all time, ChloeCougar, who has recently changed her FFn pen name to InspiredByLemons. Check out her page and leave her some love. She is most deserving.**

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and its characters. I own a guitar pick with Robert Pattinson's face on it that my husband had to use at an impromptu jam session, because I keep it in my wallet, and Mr. Guitar Player Extraordinaire doesn't carry a pick with him. Dude, seriously. No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

><p><em>Last time...<em>

_After four days of blissful snuggling with her beautiful boyfriend that Bella now remembers, she desperately needs to feed. She leaves for Seattle with the new iPhone Edward bought for her, while Edward takes a trip to La Push to question Jacob on why he lied to Edward about Bella's 'death'. We learned that Jacob saved Bella from dying and allowed her to complete her change hours south of Forks. He then explained to Edward that the vampires that were involved in the attack against him and Bella have been frequenting the area and Edward's house. Edward has no idea what the vampires could possibly want from him. He then left La Push to go visit his family._

EPOV

My mind is spinning with information overload as I drive to my parents' house. My trip to Jake's went far from how I'd anticipated. I'd expected confessions of jealousy and rage, and instead I found out that Jake is my own personal savior…or guard dog. I snort at the thought. Who knows what could have happened to me and my family if it hadn't been for him? Despite how much he hated me when we were teenagers he still did everything he could to keep me and my family safe. Even after his worst fear was made real—when his best friend was harmed because of her relationship with me—he still kept me safe. Jacob Black is a much better person than I ever gave him credit for.

I'm trying to forget the fear for my family that his words put into me when I pull into my parents' driveway. Knowing that there are still two vampires that have unfinished business here doesn't sit well with me, and I want to take my parents and siblings somewhere safe immediately. But wherever safe is, I'm not sure. I guess the safest place is near the pack, so home is going to have to do. I convince myself that there is most likely no immediate danger. Eight years have passed without me even knowing the wolves had everything under control. There is no reason to stop trusting them now. I take a few calming breaths before I exit the car and tell myself that I am just going to enjoy my time with my family and forget about the danger. For now.

Unsurprisingly, my mother is at the door to greet me having heard my car, and I'm wrapped in a bone-crushing hug before I can even step inside.

"I'm so glad my baby is here," she says against my shoulder.

"Hi Mom," I finally greet when she loosens her hold enough for me to be able to take a breath, and she pulls me inside.

"Carlisle!" she calls out. My father appears at the top of the stairs. "Edward's here," she says happily.

When my father reaches the bottom of the stairs he pulls me into a hug that's no less intense than my mother's.

"It's good to see you, Son. We've barely heard from you this week," he says slightly worried.

"I've been keeping myself busy," I say smiling. It's hard to contain happiness while thinking about what has been filling my time. My parents share a look after seeing my expression and they both seem relieved.

My mother steps behind me, pulling my jacket from my shoulders and hangs it up, no doubt to solidify the fact that I better plan to visit for a while. She loops her arm through my elbow and pulls me to the living room.

"Come in and sit down. I've missed you so much; the house is so empty without you," she says sitting us down on the loveseat.

"Alice still lives here," I say with a chuckle. Esme smiles at me seeing that I'm in good spirits.

"Yeah, Alice still lives here," my sister says pouting while she bounds down the stairs. She loses no momentum when she reaches the bottom and basically charges at me. I stand, ready to take the force of her tiny body slamming into me. She clings to my neck and her feet dangle in the air.

"Hey, Squirt," I greet.

"Hi," she mutters into my shoulder, making no move of loosening her hold.

I remove my arms from around her, dropping them to my sides, and Alice remains clung around my neck.

"Alice…um," I mumble, hoping to get my sister to drop from me. "Mom, she's doing it again," I complain when Alice doesn't take the hint, and she releases a chuckle.

"Oh fine," she relents and quickly falls from me after a quick peck on my cheek then squeezes onto the loveseat on the other side of our mother. Dad joins us in the room, sitting on the couch across from us with an amused expression on his face.

"Leave your sister be; she's just happy to see her brother," Mom chastises me.

"I'm happy to see her, too. I just thought that by now you'd have finally taught her that I'm not a jungle gym. I don't know why that lesson continues to go over her head. Although, a lot of things are over her head…" I tease while sitting back down on the loveseat.

"You're over a foot taller than me, and a lot stronger. That automatically qualifies you as jungle gym," Alice argues with crossed arms. "And you're kind of dopey, so you're really not qualified for anything else."

"Edward is not dopey," Mom states, now chastising Alice.

"Yes he is. When I asked his opinion on which gown to get for prom, he didn't even know the difference between a trumpet and a mermaid silhouette. That's pretty dopey," Alice challenges.

"They're exactly the same," I say, exasperated. "You didn't need my help anyway; you looked lovely in your fish dress." Her mouth pops open in insult and my father covers his mouth to hide a chuckle. All the while, my mother is beaming at the familiar banter that she's so rarely heard in the past five years.

"Fish dress?" Alice shrieks. "It was mermaid cut. Mermaid!" Mom shrinks away from Alice's screaming. My only response is crossing my eyes and sucking in my cheeks to make an exaggerated fish face, which emits peals of laughter from my mother and sister. _The things they find amusing_.

I can't remember the last time that I allowed myself to be so candid with my family and suddenly feel regret for letting so much time pass without enjoying their company this much. It's incredible what coming out of a state of mourning can do for one's psyche. I wish Bella could be here, too. She always loved these interactions with my family.

"Oh my God," Alice says, recovering. "Where has this Edward been? I've missed him." My mother squeezes my hand at Alice's question. "I knew that he would be in a really good mood the next time we saw him. I even told you so," she says to our parents.

"Yes, you did," my mother confirms. "You always tell us so. Do you think that she'll ever stop being right?" she asks me.

"It doesn't look like it'll be anytime soon. I'll tell you what, though, I feel bad for Jasper," I answer. My father unsuccessfully tries to hide another chuckle, and Alice narrows her eyes at him. He lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Speaking of Jasper," Dad starts, changing the subject. "Alice has some news…."

I look to Alice expectantly, but she only stares off into space, tapping her fingers against her cheek, then scratching her nose, and finally brushing her hand over her short, dark hair.

"Holy shit!" I exclaim when I finally notice the huge, elegant rock on her ring finger that she was trying to casually show me. I quickly grab her hand and pull it across our mother to inspect it closer. "Where did he get this?" The white gold ring is delicately intricate and the diamond and ruby gemstones are large and perfect. It's almost too much for her dainty hand, but I'm sure she doesn't mind. I know that a ring like this would be largely out of Jasper's budget. It'd probably be out of my budget, and I'm no stranger to being able to afford finer things. My parents left me well off after their deaths.

"Family heirloom," Alice answers. "This ring has been through three different marriages…successful ones," she adds when she notices me about to open my mouth, and she gives me a stern look.

"Congratulations, Alice. I'm happy for you," I tell her with a genuine smile on my face.

Mom examines me, probably checking to see if my sister's engagement is impacting negatively on me. Before Bella's return, jealousy that Alice is marrying her high school sweetheart would probably have caused me to retreat internally so deeply that interacting with my family would have become one sided, the way it did when Emmett announced his engagement to Rosalie. They would talk to me with barely any reciprocal reaction. It had me even more anti-social than I already was for weeks. Damn, I had been fucked up.

"Thanks," Alice replies, pulling her hand back and smiling at her ring, and then she gets up from the loveseat. "Jaz is coming over for lunch, so I have to go cook. You want some?"

"That depends. What are you making?"

"Food."

"Oh, that sounds incredible," I say with mock excitement. "I would love some."

Alice giggles and messes up my hair on her way to the kitchen while I swat away her hand.

My mother pulls me tightly to her side with the most ecstatic look think I've ever seen on her face. "I've missed you so much," she tells me, though I know she's not acknowledging my move to Port Angeles, but the fact that it appears that the old 'me' is resurfacing . I have to admit that I also missed 'me'.

She brings her hands to my cheeks and carefully inspects my face. She must be happy with what she sees, because she soon after is pulling me even further to her and quickly peppering my face with kisses while my father watches, appearing to be happy as a clam.

"Okay, okay, okay," I chant while trying to fight her off. She ceases her attack on me and my father looks at me while pulling his lips into his mouth, attempting to keep a straight face. "I have lipstick all over my face, don't I?"

My father nods his head with a chuckle joining his gesture, and I sigh.

"One day, I'm going to put a whole bunch of lipstick on and kiss you all over your face, and see how you like it," I threaten my mother, but she just laughs.

"I have some upstairs you can use right now if you want," Alice yells from the kitchen. "And if I stand in front of you holding up my phone after you put it on, I'm just texting at eye level—not taking a picture of you and posting it on_ Facebook _saying that my brother finally came out, okay? I would never do that to you."

"Uh-huh." I'm pretty sure that _is_ something that she would do. "I'll be right back," I state before heading to the bathroom to clean up.

My reflection in the mirror shows many pink lip stains on every corner of my face, and I take a moment to look for whatever it was that made my mother so happy. As I examine my features I notice the differences they hold. My eyes are brighter and show more life. My cheeks are raised a bit higher, no longer allowing a sallow look to cover my face. And my lips are actually curled into a smile. I look happy; I am happy.

I smile at my reflection and allow myself to feel the joy that I have now. It's so refreshing to replace the depression and mourning with an emotion that makes me finally feel alive. The grass is greener, the sky is…well, cloudier? No, that's not right. I imagine that it's bluer under the cloud cover of the Pacific Northwest. I laugh at my stupid joke, and then smile because I'm actually making stupid jokes.

Seeing how ridiculous my face looks makes me wish that Bella was here to see it. She would be in hysterics over me looking like this.

I'm extremely happy when I remember that I do have a way to show her and pull out my phone to take a quick photo of my face. I text it off to Bella saying: _I shouldn't have come. My mother is torturing me_. I definitely want to make sure that she knows that the lip stains she sees belong to my mother and not some random woman.

After properly cleaning my face I make my way back to the living room and see that Jasper has arrived. He greets me in his usual cautious manner to gauge what kind of mood I'll be in, and I surprise him when I reach for his hand to congratulate him properly on his engagement to my sister.

"Thank you," he says with a smile, relief written all over his face.

"I mean it. I'm really happy for the two of you," I tell him as I let go of his hand. "Just don't tell Emmett. He might get jealous," I whisper conspiratorially.

Jasper's eyes widen when he realizes that I not only mentioned a dark time in my life, but also made light of it. A surprised chuckle escapes him while Alice joins him with her arm around his waist. He brings his shocked expression to her face, which is holding a superior smirk.

"Told you," she says with a pat to the front his shoulder.

"Yes…you did," he says lowly, and he brings his gaze back to me.

"Well, I guess it's customary to say that if you ever hurt my sister, I will kill you. So treat her right. And…whatever other brotherly shit I'm supposed to say…" I trail off with a wave of dismissal with my hand and sit back down on the loveseat.

My mother is too thrilled with my behavior to correct my foul language, and Jasper seems to still be in shock but has a happy look on his face.

A buzzing in my pocket distracts me from the encounter, and I quickly pull out my phone to see if it's a text from Bella. I'm not disappointed.

_Oh, you poor thing. When I get home, I'll play the world's smallest violin for you. You have it so rough._

I chuckle at Bella's words and it grabs the attention of my family.

"Funny text?" Mom asks me.

"Yeah."

"Who from?" she inquires, nosily, and I realize I better think quickly.

"Uh…Emmett." That was certainly not quick enough and both Jasper and Alice share skeptical looks. Damn.

"Well, then I certainly don't want to see it. If that boy sends me one more crude picture or video I won't hesitate to take him over my knee," Mom says with disgust.

"Emmett sends you crude text messages?" my father asks, annoyed.

"Not on purpose," she explains. "He accidentally adds me to group messages that are just supposed to be to his buddies."

Jasper and I cringe, knowing exactly what texts my mother is talking about since we're on his list for receiving them, too.

"Exactly," my mother says, acknowledging our reactions. "I swear if he does it one more time I'm going to send him a picture of your father's penis."

"Mother!"

"Esme!"

Both my father and sister chastise her, and all of us are bug-eyed, never having heard her say anything so crass before.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes. "It's Edward; he's rubbing off on me."

"Oh my God," Alice says with a smack to her forehead, and my dad looks horrified. Jasper is holding in an outburst.

When my mother finally realizes what she said, she slaps both of her hands over her mouth and turns beet red.

"Mom, you can't say that after you say penis. You just can't," Alice instructs.

My mother gets up off the loveseat and smoothes her skirt. "Anyone want some coffee or tea?" she asks nervously and makes her way to the kitchen. She's thoroughly embarrassed.

My father has his eyes narrowed at me slightly.

"What?" I ask. "I didn't actually do that. That would be disgusting," I defend myself, but then decide it might be more fun to tease him. "Well, maybe not that disgusting. I am adopted, after all." I turn my head, raising my eyebrows and try to make it seem that I want to get a good look at Esme before I return my gaze back to my father. "She is kinda hot."

A decorative pillow hits me square in the jaw with an incredible amount of force.

"Knock it off," Dad commands, but he's having a hard time remaining serious.

"If we're taking turns impaling Edward with random objects, then I'm next." Rosalie's voice sounds from the entryway of the house. She and Emmet make their way to us carrying an antique wooden chest. Emmett makes sure to keep his eyes away from me. They set it down in the living room, and Emmett quickly darts to the kitchen, obviously avoiding me. Jasper watches with suspicion.

"How's the persuading going?" I ask Rose. "The mouth and the assets not quite cutting it?" I tease her with a sickly sweet smile on my face. She was so determined that she could get him to talk to me.

She scrunches her face at me. "Shut up."

"I don't understand what is happening here," Jasper says to Alice seeming serious, but it's more for her entertainment.

Alice just laughs and leads him to the kitchen by his hand.

"No, really. I think we've entered another dimension," he continues. "Emmett's afraid of Edward, Edward brought back his comedy routine from its five year hiatus, your mom said penis, and she wants to photograph one. I'm scared, baby."

Alice just laughs again.

"Mom said penis?!" Emmett asks, shocked. "Mom, did you say penis?!"

"That's not all she said," Jasper offers as Alice hands him some plates.

"Not another word," Mom warns as she takes the whistling teapot off the stove.

"Man, I miss all the good stuff," Emmett complains. "Wait, why would you want to photograph one?"

"_You_ just might find out," she says severely.

"What did I do?" Emmett asks with offense.

"What don't you do?" Rosalie asks when she joins everyone in the kitchen.

My father looks adoringly at his family before looking to me, and he takes a moment to examine my features the same way Mom did.

"It's good to have you home, Son," he offers without needing to explain what he means.

"It's good to be home," I reply with the same meaning hanging in my tone. Neither of us needs to say anything more on the matter—our understanding is mutual.

"Come and get lunch," Alice calls out, and we all make our way to the dinner table where she's prepared a spread of different sandwiches and side dishes.

"Macaroni and cheese? I love you, Squirt," Emmett says as he grabs himself a big helping.

"Yes, I made that just for you," Alice tells him.

"You hear that everyone? That's mine; no one touch it," he warns pointing around the table. When his eyes land on me he quickly looks down to his plate. Tired of his avoidance of me, I roll my eyes. Apparently our actions don't go unnoticed.

"What is going on with you two?" Mom asks. I'm already on a roll today, so I decide to answer creatively.

"Emmett's afraid of ghosts," I tell her as I take a bite of my sandwich.

Emmett's fork meets his plate with a loud clang and his face is displaying a level of anger toward me that I've never seen before. I may have made a mistake with my answer.

"This whole thing is because you thought you saw a ghost?" Rose asks him as if it's the stupidest thing she's ever heard of. Alice watches all of us with a worried look on her face. She looks like she's ready for the apocalypse.

"The girl in his apartment," Emmett whispers to Rosalie, but obviously not quietly enough, because everyone pauses what they're doing.

"Wait, what? Edward's new girlfriend is a ghost?" Rosalie asks now thinking that _that_ is the stupidest thing she's ever heard.

I throw her an angry look of my own filled with betrayal. She smiles sweetly at me the same way I did at her earlier. She's getting her revenge for my earlier comment. I should have known that her promise was too good to be true.

"Edward has a girlfriend?" Mom asks, both equally hurt and happy at the news. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asks me.

_Oh, God, what do I say?! What do I say?! Think fast! Think fast!_

I feel sweat start to form on the back of my neck and the food that I already ate seems to want run some kind of marathon through my stomach.

"Is that who really texted you before?" Jasper asks, uncomfortable with where the mood of the table has gone. He probably just wants the truth out in the open so everyone can deal with it and move on.

_What do I say?! What do I say?!_

What else is there to say other than the truth? How long would I be able to hide something like this from my family, anyway? Well, I guess five days would be the correct answer.

It really wouldn't be fair to keep Bella from them, and vice versa. I know they would love to see her and have her back in their lives. She completed our family perfectly, and since she's back she can do it again. Why shouldn't I tell them? They'll be thrilled. And Bella would probably love to regain more of her life. I can see her integrating back in with my family easily. Things will be so much easier for everyone if they can finally get back to the way they were.

I take a deep breath and swallow before trying to form any words.

"Yes, there is someone," I say, but I find it hard to continue. How can I make them believe me?

"Edward?" my father asks when he sees that I'm stuck on my words. His face is one of encouragement. Everyone at the table shares his expression—all but Alice. She looks like she wants to be happy, but something dark is in her features. That alone should tell me to keep my mouth shut, but I ignore it and take another breath. My sister will benefit greatly from what I'm about to say.

"It's…Bella," I finally say quietly.

"Son of a bitch," Emmett mutters as he throws his napkin down on the table.

There's a collective look of concern among my family. My mother's expression is the worst. She has her head in her hand and is staring at me with intense worry. I know that look; I've seen it many times in the past. It's pity—pity because she thinks I'm crazy.

"Edward, would you care to elaborate?" my father asks in his 'doctor' voice. _Great, he thinks I'm crazy, too. _

"I know what you're all thinking, but just hear me out," I plead. "Emmett, you remember at my place when you called me out on my lie and you wanted the truth about what happened to Bella?" He doesn't respond but averts his gaze with a shake of his head.

"Emmett, what is he talking about?" my mother asks him.

"She wasn't attacked by a bear," I quickly say, not wanting Emmett to be put on the spot for information he doesn't have. "Emmett, you were right. I did lie to Dad and the police. I had to."

Six statues stare at me from around the table. I don't think anyone is even breathing.

"Son?" my father asks again when I hesitate to continue. I look him straight in the eye to try my best at convincing him that I'm telling the truth.

"Bella wasn't attacked by a bear. It was…a vampire."

The mood at the table immediately shifts to something very unpleasant. Each member of my family now displays grief on their faces. My mother drops her head in her hands with a quiet sob. She thinks she's lost me again. No one here believes a word I just said.

"Alice," my father says quietly. "I want to you and Jasper to go to Edward's apartment and pack him a bag. Grab some clothing and the necessary toiletries, and bring it back here. Emmett, I want you to call the realtor and have her put Edward's apartment back up for sale. I'm going to call Dr. Gerandy to see if he can get Edward immediately back into his program." He stands to leave the table.

"What?! No! I'm not going back there!" I demand. My chair flies behind me as I quickly stand to my feet.

"Edward," Dad says with eerie calm. "Listen to yourself. You need to go back."

"Why don't _you_ listen? I'm telling you the truth. I know it sounds far-fetched, but I saw everything. Of course, I told you it was a bear. You would have never believed me then. Hell, you don't believe me now."

_What the fuck did I just do?_

I am the biggest idiot on the planet. I should have had Bella with me when I told them so that I can display proof right in front of their eyes. Thinking things through was never a strength of mine.

"I have been waiting five years to be able to tell you this. Do you have any idea what it was like to keep it from you for so long? Why do you think I went nuts? You kept pulling me from doctor to doctor, claiming they weren't doing their job, but they were. I was the problem, because I couldn't be honest with them. They were right when they told you that I was non-responsive to treatment. I had to be."

"So, you're telling us that you've known for five years that Bella isn't dead?" Rosalie asks skeptically.

"No, not at all. I thought the vampire killed her, but he didn't."

"There was a lot of her blood found in the surrounding area of that field. How did she survive such an attack?" My father challenges me with his arms across his chest, trying to find holes in my story.

"She was turned into a vampire. I only found out five days ago when I ran into her on the sidewalk." I hear how absolutely stupid I sound as I say it.

My mother sobs louder as I take in the unbelieving expressions of everyone else.

"I'm calling Dr. Gerandy," my father says as he turns to leave, probably no longer able to take the sounds of my mother's cries.

"I can prove it!" I yell out to get him to come back. I pull out my phone and pull up Bella's cell number. "You can talk to her yourself." Everyone seems intrigued by that.

I put the phone on speaker and set it on the table after I hit the call button. We listen to the sound of the ringing coming through the speaker. I expect Bella to pick up at any moment, but the line keeps ringing and ringing until the generic voicemail message starts. Shit. There are numerous places on the way to Seattle where cell service is limited. How _lucky_ that she is probably in one right now.

"She's on her way to Seattle; she's probably in a dead zone." I dejectedly put my phone back in my pocket.

"Why would she go to Seattle?" Jasper asks.

"The murders!" I exclaim, happy to have something that I can tell them. "In Port Angeles."

My father looks shocked that I know about them.

"Edward, no. No, no, no…" Emmett chants. "I told him about those," he says to our father.

"How do you know about them?" Dad asks Emmett.

"I heard you talking about it with the chief," he says nervously.

"What murders?" Mom tries to compose herself to ask the question.

"Bella committed them—all of them—starting with Lauren Mallory. Investigators can't find a tie to link the deaths because there isn't one. They're all random, right? Bella's not picky with whom she feeds from; she'll choose anyone. You've seen some of the bodies, right? They all have neck or wrist wounds, and the bodies barely have any blood left in them. Am I right?" I ask, desperate to get Dad to believe me. The _loony bin_ is the last place I want to go back to. And I really don't want him to spout off to Dr. Gerandy about me believing in vampires. That probably wouldn't be good.

Dad doesn't answer me, so I continue. "And the most recent one took place Tuesday—early afternoon. Emmett couldn't have told me about that. He was at my place when it happened."

"You could have researched that somehow," my father says, still not wanting to believe me. I shake my head in anger.

"How? How could I have researched it? It's not like I could have just asked _Google_ what time the weekly Port Angeles murder took place that day. They're not even reported on the news anymore. There won't be any more murders, anyway. Bella's going to feed out of the area from now on."

My father stares at me for another moment, seeming to mull something over in his mind before he again turns toward the stairs to make his way to his office.

"He's telling the truth." Jasper's voice is small but holds conviction.

_Yes, the psychology major who's just zipping through grad school; he'll be able to help me_. He can read anyone like a book.

"Jasper, please. I don't doubt that Edward believes what he is saying to be true, which is why you don't think he's lying," Dad counters, and Jasper looks a little offended. Well, so much for that.

"Emmett saw her!" I didn't want to bring him into this, but it's my only choice left.

Every person in the room turns collectively toward my brother, and he is paralyzed under the scrutiny.

"Tell them. Tell them that you saw her in my apartment," I encourage him.

"Dude, don't," he warns me.

"Then explain who threw you across the kitchen. Who brought you water?"

"Bella couldn't throw _anyone_ across a kitchen, especially someone like Emmett." Why does everything Rosalie hears have to be the stupidest thing she's ever heard?

"Please, Emmett, tell them," I beg him.

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm pretty sure that wasn't Bella."

"Did you just say 'pretty sure'?" Rosalie asks him.

Emmett starts to speak exasperatedly. "I mean, did the girl kinda look like Bella? Yeah, she did. But she was different to her. The girl in your apartment was way hotter than Bella ever was."

I see red at hearing my brother's statement, and I suddenly feel Jasper's arms wrap around my shoulders, holding me back. My father is in front of me in an instant.

"You don't need to become violent. No one is trying to hurt you," Dad cautiously explains to me.

"Let go of me," I viciously warn Jasper. His arms immediately leave my body.

"Then who was the girl in Edward's apartment?" my mother asks Emmett.

"I don't know. He probably saw her and thought she looked like Bella and is projecting her existence onto her. She probably found out that he's rich and is just taking advantage of him," he answers, trying to rationalize what he saw.

"Oh, Edward," my mom says pityingly.

"You brought an innocent girl into this?" my father asks with disapproval.

"No! Do any of you know how to fucking listen?! I know how crazy I sound. I know that vampires are not supposed to exist, but they do. Bella is certainly not the first one I've encountered. I've seen three. I only remember what the one that attacked Bella looked like, because I didn't get a good look at the other two. The one that attacked Bella held me down while he bit her. The crack in my scapula was from the force he used. If a bear had gotten that close to me it would have done a completely different kind of damage. And quite frankly, Dad, I'm pretty shocked that as a doctor you never questioned the validity of that injury." My father narrows his eyes, but he also seems to be thinking over my statement. "The vampire was impossibly strong and had red eyes. He was dark skinned but still pale for his complexion. And beautiful; all of them are beautiful." I hope that my use of detail helps to show that this isn't just some story that I concocted.

"Hold on," Emmett interrupts. "It was sunny that day." Everyone collectively shifts toward me now.

_Son. Of. A. Bitch_. How the hell will I explain that one without sounding crazy? I guess nothing I say will make me sound sane today.

"They don't burn up in the sunlight; that's just a myth." There. That sounds good. I don't even have to mention the sparkling.

"So, now you're just making up myths?" Emmett asks.

"If vampires aren't supposed to be real than them burning up in the sun isn't real either," I tell him.

"Oh."

Rosalie rolls her eyes at her husband.

There is only one person that I haven't heard a word from during this whole conversation, and I'm dying to know how she feels. I look to Alice who is giving nothing away with the neutral expression that she's wearing.

"Do you believe me?" I ask her softly. I try to communicate to her with my eyes that my words are true and not some delusion I dreamed up.

Never changing her expression, she quickly gets up from the table and marches immediately up the stairs.

_Yes!_

I know exactly what that means. She's mad at me. She's hurt that I didn't tell her sooner. She would have wanted to know the truth about her best friend.

"She believes me," I tell my family. "You know she does, and she's never wrong." My sister's track record for guessing—no, knowing—conclusions to a myriad of different situations has been something our family has had fun with and which has saved us over the years. We're no longer surprised when we hear about bad car accidents occurring on roads she's instructed us not to take.

Jasper gets up to follow her but I stop him by grabbing his arm. I want them to hear it from him.

"It's true, isn't it?" I ask him to clarify. He knows her better than anyone else does. He would be able to speak for her. "She does believe me."

He looks to my family with trepidation, but finally gives my father an exasperated nod. I release him and he flies up the stairs.

I can tell Alice's opinion is holding merit with my family. My father is starting to nervously chew on his thumbnail. His walls are beginning to crumble.

"Dad, come to my apartment; I'll show you. She'll be there. You can see for yourself. And if she never shows up I will willingly go see Dr. Gerandy myself. I won't resist one bit. But at least give me a chance to prove myself before you cart me back off to that place."

My father looks to the floor and places his hands on his hips while he mulls over what he wants to do. He quickly walks to the kitchen and grabs his keys off of the hook on the wall and reenters the dining room.

"I'm driving. You're leaving your car here."

"That's fine," I say as I retrieve my coat from the front closet. "You're going to need a ride back here anyway. You'll be in no condition to operate a vehicle when you're in shock."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he says when I make my way back to the table to say goodbye to my mother.

"I'm already way ahead of you. Trust me when I say you will shit your fucking pants when you see her."

"You will not speak to me that way," he commands me calmly.

"I'm sorry, did I say something hurtful to you?" I ask him pointedly.

"Please don't fight with your father," my mother begs me. She stands to hug me and her embrace is needy. I hug her back with as much comfort as I can muster.

"Please, don't worry about me," I whisper to her. "I'm telling the truth. I'm not crazy, and I'm not delusional. You know me better than that. I've never once done anything like this."

She nods against my shoulder before releasing me.

"I'll call you as soon as…I know more," Dad tells Mom, unsure of what to promise. "Try not to worry." He gives her a quick kiss and then motions for me to lead the way out of the door that leads into the garage.

We enter his black Mercedes, and the atmosphere is tense as Dad pulls the car out of the driveway. His posture is rigid as he holds the steering wheel tightly in the perfect ten-and-two position. His eyes are set straight on the road in front of him as the car flies faster and more aggressively than my father would usually handle it. His face is a mask, hiding the compassionate family man that would usually be perceived from his normally easy features. Anyone who looked at him right now would assume that he is a strong man on a mission—someone whose path should avoided so as to be not taken down by his resolve.

But I know better. I've seen this expression only a handful of times, but enough to know what really is going on behind his stern face. He's scared. I've frightened him, and by the looks of it, he sees this whole situation as one of the most challenging he's faced with me.

I know this can't be scarier than when I almost died from my suicide attempt, but there's a big difference with this situation. Suicide is easier to understand. He knew that for me it was just not being strong enough to continue with my life. He knew how to support that by utilizing everyone in the family to help build me back up. But this, with what he thinks are delusions, or possibly hallucinations, he probably has no idea how to combat. This is completely new territory that he's hasn't yet had to deal with, and he's scared that he doesn't know how to help me.

I wish I could make him see that I don't need his help, but the only thing that will convince him is seeing Bella for himself. There are no words I could say to him right now that would give him any kind of solace in the situation, so I don't offer any. He seems to be appreciating the quiet while he concentrates on his driving, and the closer we get to Port Angeles the more he starts to relax. If a quiet drive will help him calm down before we have to spend a tense couple of hours in my apartment waiting for Bella to come home, then I'm more than willing to keep my mouth shut.

After Dad parks in my space in the apartment building's garage we silently exit the car. We continue wordlessly as I hold open the door to the building, and I follow him to the elevator. The ride is a little awkward, and I'm grateful when we finally enter my apartment.

"Would you like a beer?" I offer, knowing that he probably could use an alcoholic beverage.

"Got anything harder?"

I'm surprised at how seriously he poses the question. I'm certain he wouldn't be angry with me right now if he found out that I actually did have liquor; he'd be relieved to have it.

"Uh…no; you know the rules," I reply, and he sighs.

"Then beer it is."

I gesture to the refrigerator. "Take your pick. I don't know what you're in the mood for."

He peruses my beer selection carefully before pulling out two bottles. I assume that one is for me, but he quickly takes them to the living room and sits on the couch. I'm left standing in the kitchen while I watch him pull open the first bottle with only his left hand, then hastily chug the contents. When he's done, he sits the empty bottle on the coffee table and opens the next one the same way. After taking a sip he sits back into the cushions with his hips low on the seat, throwing the polite posture I usually see him in right out the window.

I gape at him for a few moments having never seen anything close to a display like that from my father. I've seen him enjoy wine and champagne many times and know that he appreciates the taste of a fine liquor, or a well brewed beer. But I've never even imagined that Dad was capable of behaving the way he just did. He's always so…refined. He does know how to let loose and have fun with us, but right now he seems more like…a frat boy.

Eventually I pull my own beer out of the fridge and join my father on the couch. Looking at the bottle top I wonder how the hell he opened his beer with his bare hand—not even with his dominant hand. I've never seen anyone do that before, not even Emmett!

I try to mimic what I saw Dad do and cup my hand, placing the underside of my bottom knuckles over the bottle top. I squeeze around the cap and try to find a way where the top would actually be lifted off. After causing enough pain to the skin of my hand I try to find a different way to hold it that would give my fingers some leverage to be able to pop the top. I only end up hurting myself more, and I rub my sore fingers on my jeans to help relieve the pain.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see my dad smirking at me.

"Having some trouble, Son?" he asks when I look at him.

"How did you do that?" I demand.

He holds out his hand and I give him my bottle. He cups his left hand with the underside of the bottom knuckles over the bottle top and pops it off with ease. He laughs when he hands me back the beer and I look completely puzzled.

I'm happy to see that my dad has relaxed some and is getting back to his usual behavior with me, but this is frustrating. Badly wanting to know how he's performing this trick I grab his left hand and turn it over a couple times to see if he's hiding anything, but of course, there's nothing there. I huff in annoyance, which only causes more chuckles from him.

"It's really not that hard to figure out," he tells me. I only cock my eyebrow at him, which causes more chuckles. "Get me another one and I'll teach you." My father is always willing to bestow knowledge on his children.

When I come back from the kitchen I give Dad the new bottle and sit closer to him.

"What's the difference between my hand and yours?" he asks holding up his left hand, hoping that I can use my brain and figure it out myself. Everything is a learning experience with him.

Not understanding what he's looking for I answer, "Uh…it's older?" He elbows me in the arm, insulted.

"Nooo," he draws out. "You're just so used to seeing it that it's not registering. Look again." He holds up his hand again with a very expectant look on his face. After a few moments of my silence he wiggles his ring finger back and forth.

"You used your ring?!" I ask surprised with the method, and he nods. He positions the bottle under his hand to show me how, making sure that I can see what he's doing.

"You need a ring that's made of a strong metal. Gold works well, but it can leave dents in the band. Tungsten works really well, too. Just slide the edge of the cap under the ring and use your finger for leverage. The top comes right off." He demonstrates as he explains and the bottle opens easily.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"Yes. Especially when you do it multiple times," he says while clenching his fist with a slight cringe.

"Mom's not going to be mad that you're ruining your wedding band?" He snorts at my question.

"This is one of my spares. I'm notorious for losing them—mostly at work. I usually keep the original one safe in a box on my dresser."

I smile at the new information that I just learned about him.

We both grow silent and stare toward the fireplace while sipping our beers. Dad finishes his second and grabs the one he demonstrated with. I'm not even halfway done with mine. I've always been quite sensitive to the amount of yeast in beer which is why I'm allowed to have it in my apartment. I really can't drink more than one without experiencing a fair amount of discomfort in my stomach. There's no way I'd be able to handle enough beer to make me drunk. I'd get violently sick before I'd even get tipsy.

"Where did you learn that? The trick with the ring?" I ask, finally breaking the silence.

"College," he answers.

"Did you drink a lot in college?"

His eyes open wide and he lets out a breath as he remembers back. "Yes."

I shift a little uncomfortably. We're down to one word answers now.

"The apartment looks nice," he offers after another minute of silence.

"Oh, I didn't do all this," I say automatically, and then wish I hadn't.

"Who did?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"You won't believe me if I tell you."

He sighs and runs his hand through his blond hair. He seems to be thinking about how to proceed.

"You said that she's on her way to Seattle?"

I'm surprised when he asks the question so coolly. I was still expecting condescension. Either he really wants information on Bella's whereabouts, or he is acting this way to make me feel more comfortable about spilling my guts on everything. That way he can see how tightly my story is woven and check how mentally lost he thinks I am. I'm guessing it's the latter.

"Well, she's probably there by now."

"How did she get there?"

"She ran," I say without even caring about how ludicrous that answer is. I'm done caring what anything sounds like. If I know it's the truth then it'll come out sounding like the truth.

"She ran," he says incredulously. I can tell he wants to comment further but he holds his composure. "And why did she go there?"

"To feed. I told you that she won't kill here anymore. There won't be any more murders."

"So, your girlfriend is in Seattle committing a murder. And you're okay with that fact?" He wants to judge my sanity by seeing how well I can condone such behavior from Bella.

"Not at all," I tell him. "I hate that she has to live that way. I understand why she has to do it; it's the only way s he can survive. But I'm uneasy thinking about her killing someone."

"Why don't you just tell me everything?" he suggests, unsure of where to go next. So I do.

I explain everything that happened in the meadow in graphic detail. I was going to leave out the werewolves because I didn't want to break Jacob's trust in anyway, but I don't want any holes in my story. My father pinches his nose while I tell him about the Quileute being werewolves, just as I knew he would, but he lets me talk rather than silencing me with a call to Dr. Gerandy, which he probably would rather do. I decide to leave out the new information Jake gave me today about the vampires being after me and their continued presence in our home, not wanting my Dad to have to worry about the fact that the family may be in danger. There wouldn't be anything he could do about it anyway, so his worry about it would be useless.

I tell him about how the wolves told me that Bella was dead and what I found out to be the truth today. That leads to the story about how I ran into her earlier in the week, and I go into that with just as much detail.

We eventually move to the kitchen to get some food while I continue talking. I make us some sandwiches, and my dad requests another beer. He's going to decimate my stock.

He tries keeping a composed expression the whole time, but the information I'm giving him makes him fidgety. His concern about my mental state is not the only thing making him restless. Bella's death was extremely difficult for my whole family. Both my mother and father felt like they lost a daughter. My story is rehashing a very difficult time in his life that he buried inside himself a long time ago; he has his closure. This story requires him to reopen the old wounds and question what he knows to be the truth. He doesn't want to accept any of it.

We sit at the kitchen table well after we've finished eating while I keep telling my story. I tell him about Bella's memory loss and how she's getting some of her memories back. I also tell him everything Bella told me about her life from the past five years and how she basically wandered around just existing, not knowing what to do with herself other than to stay fed. Dad asks me sporadic questions just to see if I can answer him confidently without pause.

I'm a little stumped when he enquires about vampire myths. I tell him what little I know about the sparkling skin, no sleep, no fangs, and the speed and strength, but I myself still have a few questions for Bella.

"I really don't know what to say, Edward," Dad says after I finally finish telling him everything I know. "Your story is strong. People suffering from delusions usually have a lot of noticeable tics while they fabricate the stories that they believe to be true in their heads. They make it up as they go along. But you…your story is solid," he explains disbelievingly.

"So you no longer want to call Dr. Gerandy?" I ask with a smirk.

"Oh I do. But I want to admit myself. This can't be real. There's no way anything you said is possible," he starts to muse to himself.

"I didn't think anything like that could ever be possible either. My girlfriend got changed into a vampire. That's pretty fucked up."

"Fucked up," he says quietly with a slight nod. "That's a good way to put it." I gape at his abnormal use of profanity.

We sit in silence for a few minutes. I think it best to just let him have time to process everything.

I try to judge what he's thinking by his demeanor, but his shock at the information is making it difficult. I can tell that he wants to believe me; he doesn't want his son to be so far gone mentally. But that would mean that what I told him is fact, and _that_ he has difficulty accepting. It's too far-fetched; it's too crazy for his analytical, rational mind. I expect smoke to start coming from his ears any minute.

As I wait for my father to be able to speak again, I rest my elbows on the table and take a deep breath noticing that the action is coupled with a feeling of contentment. The clichéd feeling of having a giant weight lifted off my shoulders is welcome as it replaces the feeling of being necessarily repressed. I've finally told my father the truth that has been nagging at me since the day I had to lie to him. I remember how garbled my lies were delivered whenever I had to retell the story, but it was assumed that the stress I had displayed was only due to the horrible experience I had encountered and not the fact that I had been telling untruths. I almost wished someone would've called me out on it back then just so that I could've told someone what I'd really been through. I had needed that release so badly. And now I finally have it and I can feel the relief wash through me. It almost feels like a freedom.

I'm shocked right out of my thoughts when the apartment door bursts open and my father almost jumps out of his chair. I see Bella standing in the doorway and her face is beaming with sheer excitement. She's wearing the cap I gave her but not the sunglasses.

When her eyes land on me she very happily exclaims, "It was a book on sex positions!"

_Now she remembers the book she kept in her drawer?! _

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. Would love to hear your thoughts. Reviews also might get more scenes of Edward in a towel. Just sayin'.<strong>

**You can follow me on twitter at LwE17 for update info and occasional nonsense.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello all! And Happy New Year! I hope you all had an excellent holiday season and are not as depressed about getting back to work as I am. **

**Chapter 9 is FINALLY here. There are many reasons why this took so long, and I won't bore you will all of them. It's been a rough year, and I'm looking for a new year to start that'll hopefully be a bit brighter. I may have also procured an Xbox 360 and started playing Skyrim. Boy, is that a time suck. As a result, there may be some references to that game in future chapters as it takes up a lot of time in my head. We'll see.**

**A HUGE thank you to my beta Inspired By Lemons. I always look forward to your little notes along the margin. And I promise I will try to gain a better relationship with the comma. No promises, though.**

**As always, Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and it characters. I own a Be Safe decal that's on my car window. I may have mentioned that before, but I need to again since I'm getting a new car tomorrow and my husband will get my car. Therefore, he will then have a Be Safe decal on his car window. Lucky bastard.**

* * *

><p>BPOV<p>

Careless…unobservant…sloppy…reckless: all are adjectives to describe my current state. If I'd have just paid closer attention I wouldn't be staring into the eyes of one bug-eyed, un-breathing Carlisle Cullen. Next to him, Edward's surprised eyes keep flashing between me and the man who, at one time, had essentially become my second father.

I know how Edward's family is. I know that they frequently visit him. But the excitement I had at remembering the risqué book I used to keep in his dresser had me completely ignore the fact that there was a second scent mingled with his in the hallway. I'd thought nothing of it, being that many different scents from all the residents and their guests permeate the whole building. The sound of a second heartbeat hadn't registered in my mind as anything to be acknowledged either, since Edward's neighbor is home and I assumed he was the tenant with a guest. The sound of all three heartbeats are resonating from the same area which leads me to believe that the neighbor is now pressed up against the wall trying to listen carefully. After all, I just shouted the words 'sex positions'. Nosy perv.

If only I had paid closer attention, I would have known exactly where the heartbeat was coming from. My vampire card should be revoked. _Ah, if only it were that easy._

After staring in surprise for a few moments, I eventually close the door behind me. My hair falls down my back as I pull Edward's cap from my head, and I slowly remove my bag and the denim jacket, hanging them on the chair across the table from Carlisle. His expression morphs to one full of wonder as he watches me.

"Dad?" Edward asks, trying to get a reaction from his father, but Carlisle continues to stare.

Slowly placing my hands on the chair in front of me, I regard him carefully. I don't want to do anything that could frighten him like I did with Emmett. One person in Edward's family completely terrified of me is one too many. Hell, one person in Edward's family even knowing about me is one too many. If I want to get really technical, not even Edward should know about me. There was a lot to think about while I spent time alone today, and I know what I have to do to keep myself out of the eyes of the Volturi, but Edward is going to have some decisions to make.

"Hi, Carlisle," I say softly in my own effort to bring him out of his trance.

My words seem to do the trick when he quickly stands, rounds the table, and throws his long arms around me, making it necessary for me to cut off my airways. His grip around me is tight—secure. I feel safe wrapped in these arms, and I relax into his body, letting him hold me as he starts to quake with quiet sobs.

The embrace is coupled with a sense of familiarity and a memory trying to work its way to the surface of my mind. I remember Carlisle hugging me like this once when I confided in him after having a fight with my dad about spending so much time with Edward. I was jealous that Edward's father was much more understanding about the issue. Carlisle had assured me that there is a rather unfair bias when it comes to fathers and their daughters. He sheepishly admitted to me that he may have fabricated some kind of tedious chores that needed to be done when he thought Alice was spending too much unsupervised time with Jasper. He also swore me to secrecy with a pinky swear, causing me to smile, which was the desired effect of the gesture.

A chuckle escapes me as the memory unfolds causing Carlisle to pull away from me slightly with an inquisitive look.

"I remember you," I mumble into his chest while pulling him back to me, not yet ready to let go of this familiar, yet foreign security his hug is providing me. Until this moment I hadn't been aware of how much I craved a paternal presence in my life. Carlisle's embrace made me feel both protected and cherished; something which I haven't felt since…well, since I was human. The intensity of the emotions flowing through me is almost crippling, and I can only imagine how much more heightened they would be if I was hugging my actual father. I almost whimper at the thought, but choke back the sound instead. Charlie can never know that I still exist; the danger to him is too high. The danger to Carlisle is no different, and I wouldn't have put him in this position purposely, but I am quite selfishly glad that I was so careless today. Regretting my mistake is difficult in this moment.

And it's not as if he needs to know that I'm a vampire. I can just tell him that I suffered from amnesia and randomly ran into Edward who awoke my memory. That can't be too far-fetched of a story. In many ways it is true.

"I never broke my promise," I tell him when I need to distract myself from my more depressing thoughts. He only looks at me in confusion, not knowing what my statement is referring to.

I pull his hand from my shoulder and link my pinky with his. A wondering smile breaks across his face while his eyes fill with fresh tears, and I know he remembers the talk we had years ago. He pulls me back to him with a sound that's a mix between a cry and a chuckle.

The sound of a camera shutter interrupts us and we see Edward holding up his phone.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I thought I would text this to Mom—"

Before Edward can finish the sentence I'm in front of him with his phone in my hand, deleting the picture, leaving Carlisle staring in bewilderment at the speed at which I left him. I am very much failing at stealth vampirism today.

"You can't do that," I tell Edward quietly. "No one else can know. First Emmett, and now your dad; that's already too many people. We need to be more careful."

Edward's face crinkles in confusion while he shares a look with Carlisle. "Why?" he asks, looking at me again.

"It's not safe for any of you," I whisper, not really knowing how to get into the dynamics of the Volturi with him. I assume the less information he knows, the better off he is.

"Not safe from whom? The other vampires?" Edward asks, looking for clarification.

"The others are a danger to us?" Carlisle's question is directed at Edward, who averts his eyes and nods sheepishly. "Why didn't you tell me that part of the story?"

"There is nothing you can do to protect yourself from them, so I didn't want you to worry. The wolves are your best form of protection and have been doing it for the past eight years. They'll make sure you're safe."

"But Bella was attacked five years ago. That was the first time you saw the vampires, not eight years ago."

"I didn't see them eight years ago, but they've been frequenting the area for that long," Edward explains.

"You just said a few minutes ago that you told me everything. Are there any other omissions that I need to know about?" is Carlisle's annoyed retort.

"Wait, wait, wait," I interrupt while Edward is sporting a guilty look at his father's words. "You told him everything?!"

"Of course I did," he answers. "It's not like I could have hidden you from them for long. Especially with what happened with Emmett."

"Them? You told them? As in your whole family?!"

"Yes?" Edward answers carefully in response to my panic.

"You idiot!" I exclaim with a slap to his shoulder, making him stumble into a kitchen chair. He rights himself and massages the muscles where I hit him, grumbling through the pain.

"What the hell, Bella?!" he exclaims before I can apologize. "Don't you want your family back?"

"This isn't about what I want! It's about what's safe for all of us. And you just signed everyone's death warrants, including mine!"

Edward's face falls with the accusation, followed by confusion. Carlisle seems to be in no better state of mind.

"Let me explain," I start. So much for keeping Edward in the dark about this. "Humans are not allowed to know about vampires, and any vampire that exposes what we are to a human is punished by death, along with the knowing humans. Breaking our anonymity is not tolerated."

"By whom?" The question is asked by Carlisle, who now seems to have taken on a more business like quality.

With a resigned sigh I explain, "There's a group of us in Italy who are basically the self-appointed rulers of our kind. They've held up their...royalty, you could say, for the past three thousand years. They make the laws and we follow. Or law, I should say. There's only the one. They couldn't care less what else we choose to do with our time."

Carlisle sits down at the table and scrubs his face with his hands while mumbling, "Three thousand years." He's obviously trying to get a healthy grasp on what he used to know as fiction now being not only reality, but his current reality. My existence and Edward's ignorance have brought upon his family a danger that no man as good as Carlisle should ever have to face.

While Carlisle battles his thoughts I recall the words that were spoken by him and Edward just a few moments ago.

"Vampires have frequented the area for eight years?" I ask Edward.

"I just found out today," he says to reassure me that he hasn't been keeping any secrets from me. "I visited Jacob today to ask about the lies he told me about your death. I ended up getting the full story about how the vampires were after me in the first place."

"After you? But they changed me."

"According to Jake, that wasn't supposed to happen. It was an accident," he explains reluctantly.

"An accident?!" I exclaim angrily, causing Edward and his father to shrink away in fear. "A fucking accident?! This…" I gesture to myself, "…is an accident?!" The news causes unexpected rage to surge inside of me. To know that my life—my extremely blessed life—was taken from me because of someone's accident just makes all the horrible things I've lived through during the past five years seem that much worse. My change should never have happened. I should have just finished college and be looking into grad programs. Edward should have gone on to med school and be on his way to becoming a successful doctor and building his life with me. All the people I killed should still be alive. But none of those things are reality. Because of an accident!

The surge of rage is too much to handle and my fist forces its way through the granite countertop of the kitchen's island. Shattered pieces of the surface fall all over the floor while others fly through the room. Edward shields his face with his arms while Carlisle flees the kitchen altogether. He peeks around the entryway looking like a scared little boy.

After one more angry smash to the countertop, I fall to my knees as my emotions turn to a more vulnerable place. Sobs rip through me and, for the first time, I finally mourn the loss of the life that I've been slowly remembering.

"It's not fair. It can't be an accident," I sputter through my garbled cries. "I had so much. So much."

Warm, consoling arms find their way around me, and I'm surprised to see that the embrace is not Edward's. Carlisle is on his knees beside me, clutching onto me in what seems like an effort to keep me from falling to pieces. I rock slowly in his arms, continuing my sobbing, and accept his comfort. Carlisle holds me and strokes my hair as he lets me cry into his shoulder for however long I need to.

"It's not fair," I mumble again after I start to calm.

"I know. It's not," he agrees. "But it's not an accident."

His statement gets me to pull back to look at him in confusion.

"I don't believe in accidents," he explains. "Everything happens for a reason."

I snort at his overused cliché. How does he think that will help me right now?

"So I'm meant to be this? You think this is my destiny, or that God wanted this for me? Or even that I deserved it?"

"No, I don't think you deserve it. You of all people, Bella, don't deserve this. No goodhearted person deserves the bad things that life grants them."

"Then why would this happen to me? Why would I be forced to lose everything I had?" I choke out in question.

Carlisle sighs before answering. "I think mankind, as a whole, has strongly veered far past what we were purposed to be. I believe everyone is good and has a destiny to bring light and love to others around them," he says with a wistful smile, showing the intentions of his kind heart. "But somewhere along the way greed and selfishness became a stronger motivator for too many. Thousands of years later we've created a world where wealth and power reign far above love and caring for our fellow man. People are dying needlessly, millions starve, disease runs rampant, wars rage, and hate fuels the actions of so many. All because we've created pieces of paper that we stuff into our wallets, and bank accounts, and think that its value is greater than that of the livelihood of our fellow man. Even our food and water supplies are being made toxic so that a small few can benefit from the profits to be made from such an act. Mankind has put this world in such a downward spiral of destruction, I'm not sure we'll ever find our way out of it," he says with a note of sadness.

"I think all the 'bad' things we face are merely the consequences of the society we've created; no one is exempt, we all fall prey to the negativity somewhere throughout our lives. No one has it perfect.

"I believe man has destroyed the purpose of our kind so badly that we all now carry the burden of those choices whether we're deserving or not. Some are afflicted with society's consequences much worse than others, and you're right, it's not fair. Some of us try to do the right thing, and can be rewarded for our hard work, but we can still reap a harvest that we didn't sow.

"But I also think that these hard times can be a way for us to show our strength—to show that the bad that someone else has brought us doesn't have to change who we are, that it doesn't negate the love and good we have in us and darken our hearts. We can show others how to overcome the bad and bring light back into our world.

"Bella, you are a strong, beautiful person. If there is anyone who can overcome your...unique situation, it's you."

I think about Carlisle's words and how ideal they sound to someone like me. Without blatantly saying it, he just admitted to accepting me despite what I am, and he already believes that I can be something greater. I don't know whether I should be moved by his faith, or deem it as ignorance. If I'd have heard this speech six days ago I would have absolutely taken a cynical approach to its interpretation. I would have laughed at the person who lived in this fantasy land, and then I would've probably eaten them for lunch just to try to prove them wrong. But finding Edward has changed my previous outlook and behavior. Before, I had no purpose, and the only thing fueling my actions and decisions was the fact that I'm a vampire. My life consisted of finding prey, hiding my eyes, making sure there is proper cover when the sun chooses to appear, and trying to be inconspicuous. Everything I did was done because of what I am.

Now, because I found Edward, everything I do is because of who I am, and I absolutely love it. I spend time with him, I attempt to prepare him food; I play video games with him, and learn about my past and my family. The things that I have to do due to vampirism now seem secondary. It feels like I am no longer 'Bella the vampire'. Now I'm just Bella...who happens to be a vampire. Edward really helped me see that this morning.

This new person who I am now—or perhaps I should say this person who I am again—loves Carlisle's words, and takes them to heart, believing them. Until...

"I've killed so many people. There is no light in me," I say, disheartened.

Carlisle's hands encircle my face and force my gaze to his. "I don't know the true purpose of...what you are, but I truly believe that you're not meant to be the killer you think you are, or have become. We will find another way for you. I'm sure of it."

As I stare into his earnest eyes; I so badly want to believe him. I want to believe that there is something other than 'murderer' for me to be. My instinct is to argue with him, telling him that he has no clue what he's talking about. But he speaks with so much conviction in his faith. He's not saying nonsensical words which are supposed to make me feel better. He truly believes everything he says, and that alone gives me the encouragement I need. Carlisle Cullen has never once steered me wrong. I trust him with my life.

I give a small nod as my only response to his statement—emotion choking away my speech.

After a few moments, Carlisle reaches a hand toward my face again. This time he strokes my cheek in wonder, feeling the hard smoothness of the skin. His hand moves to my hair, where he drags his fingers through the extraordinarily soft strands. A softly whispered "amazing" falls from his lips.

Quickly, his expression turns serious as he lifts my left hand and begins to inspect it.

"Did you hurt yourself on the counter top?" he asks, even though he can see that my hand is in no way marred.

"No. Things like that can't hurt me," I say as he continues his examination, fascination all over his features.

"What can hurt you?" he asks.

"Only other vampires, because they have the necessary strength. Oh, and I guess werewolves," I add on as an afterthought remembering what Edward has told me about them.

"That's it? Not even a person?"

"A person wouldn't be able to hit me hard enough. Not even with a weapon," I explain carefully, not knowing how he'll respond to such bizarre information.

His face crinkles in thought before his eyes meet mine with a look of realization.

"So...you mean to tell me that you're primarily indestructible?" he inquires with an amused quirk on his lips.

"Yes," I answer while trying to understand his amusement.

My answer is met with Carlisle throwing his head back in laughter while I look on in confusion. I gaze at Edward hoping that he understands his father's reaction, and his smirk tells me that he's in on the joke.

Carlisle regains his composure and looks to Edward. "Bella is indestructible," he states before starting a new round of laughter. Edward chuckles until he notices my glare. I think I have a good idea where this is leading.

Carlisle calms when he sees my narrowed eyes, but he still can't hold back a few chuckles.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he apologizes. "But _that_ is why you needed to become a vampire." More laughter follows his statement regarding my clumsiness in my 'previous life'.

"Yeah, laugh it up, Doc," I say to him. "You'll have to break it to Edward that any hope of a college education is useless now since I've put you out of business."

Carlisle just laughs harder, and I can't help but smile with him when I realize that I've again been blessed with something that I didn't know I was missing. I can now freely laugh with people that I love, and there really isn't a much better feeling in the world than that. I hope that whoever is responsible for returning me to this family knows how grateful I am.

After our laughs quiet down, Carlisle stands and offers his hand to help me up, and I allow him to guide me to my feet. As he witnesses the grace with which I now move he questions, "That was unnecessary, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but not unappreciated," I answer. "Thanks."

"We should probably get this cleaned up," Carlisle suggests while gesturing to the granite mess that I've created throughout the kitchen.

"I'll take care of it," I say sheepishly, now embarrassed at my actions. "It's my mess. You don't have to trouble yourself."

"Helping you has never been any trouble, and it never will be. You don't have to do this alone," Carlisle says pointedly, not only acknowledging the mess in the kitchen, and I smile gratefully.

After I help Edward locate where I have stashed the cleaning supplies, the three of us get to work sweeping and mopping.

As I bag up the pieces of the counter top I can't help but feel horrible about destroying something of Edward's. My fist flew through the granite so easily and without thought. The event has me thinking about what else of his that I could easily destroy. I could lose my composure and decimate any of his possessions, as I demonstrated today. Or, a more frightening scenario, my presence could destroy his family. Edward and his father are joking and laughing about how much Esme hates white granite and how she'll be thrilled about being able to replace it. Watching them interact, it's very easy to see how great a relationship they have—how close they are, and how much me being here could tear this family apart.

I don't even want to acknowledge that truth. I don't want to think about the fact that the world I exist in will not tolerate my proximity with Edward and his family. The leaders of my world would rather us dead than to continue being with each other. But how would they really know? What are the chances that one of the Volturi guard would make their way to this small town in northern Washington? James and Victoria were fearful of the trio, but always seemed to lean more toward the realm of thinking 'don't get caught', rather than 'don't do'. But any indiscretion they may have committed would be seen as child's play compared to what I'm doing. But will I get caught? What really are the chances if the Volturi reside on another continent?!

I was prepared to limit my interactions with Edward's family, but after today with Carlisle I just can't bring myself to not give myself back to this family completely. It feels as if it would be physically painful to leave Carlisle again. I can't even imagine what it would be like to deny myself Esme...or Alice. _Oh God; Alice_. How did I survive these past five years without my best friend? After I remembered Edward my memories of Alice came flooding back. I pushed them to the back of my mind, not wanting to torment myself with something that I thought I couldn't have. But now that Edward has told her that I'm here, can I stay away? I don't want to stay away from her. I want all of my life back, and I'm going to take every bit that I can get. It belongs to me, and I won't let anything stand in the way anymore. I've been without too much for too long, and I deserve my happily ever after. The Volturi can suck on that.

"Bella?" I hear Edward call my name with concern. "What's wrong? Why do you look so angry?" He's in front of me and his hands soothingly caress my upper arms.

"I'm not. Just...resolved," I answer.

"About what?"

"Can we go see the rest of your family now?"

Edward looks a bit confused at my question.

"Earlier you said that it would be too dangerous."

"I can make it work. I'll think of something. I won't let anything happen to your family. I promise. And you said that the wolves help keep them safe, too. I'm sure everything will be fine," I explain, hoping that the doubts that I have don't make themselves obvious in my voice.

"Bella, how dangerous is the group of 'royal' vampires you spoke about?" Carlisle asks seeming to pick up on some of my anxiety.

"Maybe we should sit down to have this conversation," I suggest. Carlisle deserves the complete truth about what my participation in his family would mean, and whether or not he thinks I should have the right to stay. As much as I want to just go running to Forks and immerse myself back into the Cullen life, I respect Carlisle enough to let him choose what he thinks is best for his family. If need be, I'll take Edward away from here and we'll protect his family from afar. But if I know Carlisle, I know that he won't hear of that either. And the very selfish part of me is hoping that he'll decide to keep us all together no matter what the consequences are.

We head into the living room, and Edward and I take our seats on the couch while Carlisle opts for the love seat.

"The first thing you need to know is that if you're human any vampire is a danger to you that you have no hope of protecting yourself against," I begin. "We're equipped to be the ultimate, unstoppable predator. So, short of you having a nuclear weapon, you're helpless." Both Edward and Carlisle look uncomfortable at the information. "I don't know a whole lot about the Volturi, but the abilities they possess are more to scare me than you. You are in no greater danger from them than you would be from any other vampire that you come across. And your danger from the Volturi depends completely on them finding out about your involvement with me, which is a pretty unlikely scenario since they reside in Italy."

"What do you mean by 'abilities?" Carlisle asks. How to explain this...

"Some of us are, for lack of a better word, gifted. We can have physical or mental abilities that manifest in any number of ways. From what I know about the Volturi, they possess a large amount of gifted vampires. I only know what a few of them can do, but the lot of them are unstoppable by any other vampires. This is how the Volturi keep their rule—no one can challenge them."

"What can they do?" is Carlisle's next question.

"I only know about three of them. The leader himself possesses some kind of mind reading ability, but he has to have physical contact to do it. Then there is a girl who can cause physical pain just by looking at you. Some say she's the scariest of the group. And there is a man who is capable of finding anyone in the world. They call it a tracking ability. That's why no one can hide from them, but he has to meet someone first before he can start tracking them."

"Earlier you were more afraid of their threat. What has you skeptical now?" Carlisle asks.

"After thinking about it I'm not sure how easily they'd find out. They do make trips to America—all over the world really—to look for indiscretions, but they concentrate more on the south than the north. For whatever reason there are nasty territorial disputes down there that can get out of hand. In five years I've never encountered any of the guard. I don't think they would concern themselves with small, underpopulated towns. They probably wouldn't even think of it."

Carlisle scrubs at his face and sighs. "I'm sorry," he apologizes, seeing his actions as rude. "Between you being a vampire, and then hearing about a vampire ruling class, disgruntled southern vampires, and vampires with abilities, I've taken in a lot today. Bella, I'm extremely grateful that you're back, but this is going to take some getting used to."

"I understand. It was a lot for me as well."

"What if someone told them?" Edward asks seriously.

"What do you mean?" I ask, not completely understanding Edward's meaning.

"What if someone told the...Volturi about us?"

"Someone could tip them off, yes. But who would do that?"

"Someone who wants something from me. They could use the threat as leverage. They were after me that day. They've been in our house a few times looking for something of mine."

Hisses and growls make their way from throat. "They've been in your house?! Why didn't you tell me?" Edward and Carlisle wear matching fearful expressions. I need to calm myself before I scare them further.

"I just found out today. I haven't had a chance to discuss it with you yet," Edward quickly tells me. "The last time they were in the area was about a year ago, so they could come back at any time and find you with us."

"If they come back here, the last thing they'll get the chance to do is leave the area alive," I say in a threatening manner. Whoever is responsible for all that we've gone through is definitely going to pay for their actions. While I'm imagining my retribution something Edward said sticks out to me.

"Have you seen them?" I ask Edward.

"No. The only glimpse I ever got of them was in the meadow. And it wasn't long enough to see any of their features. My best guess is that there was a man and a woman, but they ran off so quickly," he answers.

"A man and a woman?" I ask with a bit too much intensity. "And they were here about a year ago?" Edward nods his head in affirmation.

An angry grunt escapes me while my fist seeks out the closest inanimate object...again. The coffee table crumbles into three pieces at the force of my blow. Edward shields his face...again, and Carlisle flees the room...again. With my anger in no way sated I get up from the couch and pick up the largest piece of coffee table.

"That son of a bitch!" I exclaim as I hurl the piece of wood into the wall. I pick up a second piece of the coffee table and it's given the same fate as the first. With one last angry scream I throw the last piece of the table. The wall is now marred with nicks and scratches, the table in splintered pieces on the floor, and one remaining table leg sticking straight out of the dry wall.

"I'm gonna kill him! I'll kill that bastard!" I yell as I now pace the room.

Carlisle slowly makes his way back in and inspects the protruding coffee table leg with surprised eyes. I don't know what's so surprising—he saw what I did to the counter top.

In a dangerous but caring maneuver Edward steps in front of me and places his hands on my upper arms. I allow him to stop me and will myself to calm. I stare into his eyes, trying to utilize them as my anchor, and after a few deep breaths my snarls stop altogether.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" I say, panic clear in my voice. Now that I'm out of the anger-induced haze I can clearly see the destructive effects of my reckless behavior. "I just fed, and when I do it's a lot harder to control myself, and I'm so angry right now. I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch." I explain probably a bit too quickly.

"It's okay, it's fine. Just relax," he says soothingly while stroking my arms. I revel in his touch and allow his ministrations to distract me from the anger that could cause me to be more destructive. "Who are you talking about?" he asks with concern.

"James," I answer with a resigned sigh. "He and Victoria are two vampires that I encountered a year ago. They were in this area and told me that they had some unfinished business nearby. I didn't know at the time that I was a part of their unfinished business. It's probably why James wanted me to join them; I'm technically his responsibility if he's the one who turned me. But they vanished so quickly and without a word, and I haven't seen them since. I don't know why they left like that."

"The wolves ran them off. They're making it too difficult for the vampires to return. Jake thinks they're planning and regrouping. He doesn't know what to expect when they do decide to come back, but he's very confident that his pack can handle them. And the one you're calling James didn't do this to you. Jake and Paul killed the one responsible. From what Jake told me today, I don't think either of us were to be turned. It seemed too reckless for what they were trying to do."

"Jacob, always looking out for me," I muse with a small smile. I try to imagine my good friend as an angry wolf disemboweling one of my kind and it's quite difficult. He was the happiest kid I knew. Well, until I started dating Edward.

"What else did he tell you?" I ask, wanting to know more of the details of my last moments as a happy human.

"I think I should let him tell you his story. But I will tell you that it's because of him that you didn't die. I owe him for that," Edward says with his eyes cast downward. "He wants to see you. When you're ready."

I nod my head in response, not knowing how to react to his last words. He spoke them uncomfortably, like he didn't want to tell me about Jake wanting to see me. I'm about to question him when I notice Carlisle seated on the love seat again, but now with his face in his hands. Edward follows my line of sight with a concerned expression.

"Dad?"

"They've been...in our house?" Carlisle asks in a strangled voice, never lifting his gaze.

Edward exhales before sitting on the couch and places his elbows on his knees. I sit beside him, recognizing that easing Carlisle is the more important task at hand.

"Yes," Edward answers. "A few times."

Carlisle shows no outward response, but I can hear the changes in his body. His heart is beating harder and faster, and his breaths are shallow and quick: probably not the best scenario for a man approaching, if not already, fifty years old.

I place a hand on Edward's arm to get his attention and mouth the word 'careful'. At Edward's quirked eyebrow I flutter my hand quickly against my chest to indicate what is happening with his father.

Edward nods in understanding and chooses his words carefully. "'Dad, there is no reason for you to worry about this—"

"What?!" Carlisle shouts. "Nothing to worry about?! Bella is concerned about some...magic, rule-keeping vampires in Italy when we have our own vindictive ones in our own...fucking...backyard..." He trails off while he stands, placing a hand to his hip and one to his forehead. "Edward, I want you to honestly tell me how much danger our family is in."

"I don't know," Edward says carefully.

"You don't know," Carlisle states more to himself. After a small sigh he quickly picks up one of the broken pieces of the coffee table and hurls it at the same spot on the wall as I did. His action is coupled with an uncharacteristic angry yell, and both Edward and I watch with matching expressions of awe. Edward reaches for my hand looking for some form of comfort, showing me that he is actually afraid of his father right now.

Carlisle stares with heavy breaths and his hands on his hips at the piece of wood that fell to the floor. After a moment he looks to the ground, closing his eyes while his breathing slows.

"I'm sorry," he states. "I just..." He trails off with a sigh.

Edward stands and approaches his father, placing a hand on his shoulder to gain his attention.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but this is what I wanted to avoid. You shouldn't have to worry about it. The wolves keep an eye out and make sure the vampires can't get to us. Jake said that they're ready for their next arrival."

"You're wrong, Edward," Carlisle retorts. "I should have to worry about it. This is my family and my responsibility. And just to know that all of us have been in danger from a force that we can't even defend ourselves from for the past eight years... I don't know what to do. There has to be something I can do to help my family. There has to be. I don't want to be worthless to all of you," he says with agitation and doubt.

"You will _never_ be worthless to us. I can't believe you'd even think that," Edward says, and Carlisle sighs.

"I can't stand to be helpless here. I can't lose any of you," Carlisle says, allowing emotion to creep into his voice. "What we went through with losing Bella was too much to handle. I can't have this family torn apart again."

"Then we'll be as proactive as we can. There isn't much we can do, but if it makes you feel better we can go speak with Jake and his pack to see if there's anything he wants us to do. At least it's something," Edward suggests, and Carlisle nods.

"I'd like that. As soon as possible. For now, I need to get back to Esme. She's probably worried sick because she hasn't heard from us yet."

"What do you want to tell the family?" Edward asks. "I don't think we should get into the dangers still looming just yet. I think just the idea of Bella and vampires is going to be a lot. Especially judging by Emmett's reaction. He's not ready for it."

"Agreed," Carlisle says, trying to add an air of confidence to his tone. "One step at a time. We'll use our judgment as new information becomes available. But right now, Bella has a family to get reacquainted with," he says with a small smile. He's obviously trying to distract himself with something more pleasant.

Edward takes a moment to examine his father's face, making sure that he's in a healthy state of mind before turning to me and extending his hand for me to take.

With a smile he asks me the one question I've been waiting to hear for the past five years, "Are you ready to go home?"

Taking his hand and standing to my feet, I match his happy expression.

"I can't wait to go home."

* * *

><p><strong>As always, I'd love to know what you think, and hear your theories. Thanks for reading!<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Welcome to chapter 10. It's been a long wait, I know. And I apologize. This year has not been the kindest, but I survived and I'm here. And I'm writing. It feels good. The next chapter is in the works, as well. I hope you enjoy.**

**As always, a very huge thank you to my super cool beta, InspiredByLemons. Much love to you for sticking with me. **

**Last time, Edward was visiting his family and decided it would be good to tell everyone about Bella, which wasn't the best idea considering Carlisle was ready to get Edward to a doctor. Edward convinced Carlisle to come to his apartment and see for himself. While at the apartment Edward told Carlisle the full story about what really happened to Bella. After their conversation, Bella came home and she had a nice reunion with Carlisle, and Edward was able to tell them both about what he learned about the vampires that have continued to seek out Edward and still could. Deciding to not worry the family just yet, they decided to not let them in on the information and just go back to the house to re-introduce Bella with everyone else.**

EPOV

"We're on our way home," Dad says into his cell phone while I drive his Mercedes down the 101. He wasn't in much shape for operating a vehicle after the shocking events of the day and the four beers he pounded at my place.

"I don't want to give any details over the phone," he says, answering a question. "But...we're bringing company. Don't let the kids leave the house, and don't contact anyone. Edward wasn't lying." He takes a moment to listen to Mom's response. "Yes, but we'll be there soon. Just try to keep everyone...calm. I love you, too."

As Dad hangs up his phone I spot Bella in the rearview mirror smirking from the back seat. Since the rear windows have a darker tint we thought she would be better hidden there when we drive through Forks.

"What's that look for?" I ask her.

"Emmett," she answers. "Esme must have been using speaker phone, because he let out that high pitched "what?!" that he uses when he's surprised. It's just been a while since I've heard that."

"You could hear that?" Dad asks.

"I can hear the radio of the car behind us. The driver is listening to "Cat Scratch Fever", and he seems to be suffering from some kind of arrhythmia. I can hear Edward's teeth repeatedly coming together because he's doing that thing where he bites the inside of his lips. And I can hear your body digesting your lunch."

"Is that all?" Dad asks, using a cheeky tone to hide is actual astonishment. "And what does it sound like I had for lunch?"

"The entrails of your enemies," Bella says wistfully while looking out the window.

Dad turns his face toward her with an enquiring raised eyebrow.

"What?" Bella asks innocently. "That's not what you had?"

Dad shakes his head and turns back toward the front of the vehicle with a chuckle.

"Speaking of lunch, how was your trip to Seattle?" I ask without trying to sound awkward. I don't want Bella to feel like she needs to be ashamed, or that she needs to hide any part of her from me—human or not. She needs to know that I don't judge her actions and behaviors.

"I gave away your sunglasses. I'm sorry," she says quickly with guilt coloring her tone.

"Why?" I ask curiously.

"There was a blind homeless man on the sidewalk with some cups set out in front of him. Every so often he would ask for money, but people looked at him with disgust. He didn't have eyes, and people wouldn't go near him. So I gave him your sunglasses and a little money," she explains.

"That was nice of you," my dad compliments.

"No, it was civil of me. People couldn't even be commonly civil toward the man. Nice would be getting him a hotel and some food, but I don't have that kind of money."

"You did something that was within your means to do. Don't feel badly thinking that it's not enough," Dad says.

"Hm," Bella replies.

"How did...the rest of the trip go?" I ask, not able to keep the awkwardness out of my tone.

"You really want to know about that?" she asks with her eyebrows raised.

"Yes," I answer, while Dad begins to stare out his window.

"Well," Bella begins. "You ruined it for me."

"What? How?" I ask.

"With all your talk about being picky and only feeding from wrong doers. Just like your dad said: doing something within my means to help. But does being selective of who I kill really help the world? Who am I to say that the person I choose won't reform themselves later? I don't know the future.

"Then I thought of my own situation. I was a good person, and a vampire's decision ruined everything I had, and ruined everything for you. I don't want to be the cause of that kind of pain for someone else who doesn't deserve it. I don't want to be like the ignorant piece of shit that took my life.

"But it's not as easy as it sounds. We react to stimuli; we don't contemplate how we'll respond to it. And I'm still 'young', so I'm not as controlled as most others."

"So, what happened?" I ask when she doesn't continue.

"I tried to do as you requested. It didn't go well."

"And?" I enquire.

Bella sighs before answering. "I killed a nineteen year old kid for being a bully."

I look over to my dad to see how he's taking Bella's words. He's still looking out his window with an uncomfortable expression. I can only assume that this is a conversation he doesn't want to be privy to. But I'd rather he were. I want him to know everything from now on; no more secrets.

"What did he do?" I ask Bella.

"He pretended to give that homeless man money, but ended up stealing what was already in the cup. He took his Starbucks receipt and switched it for the cash, laughing with his friends as they walked by. The expression on the old man's face was heartbreaking when he felt what was then in the cup. That's why I gave him the sunglasses and money."

"What part of your instincts made you want to kill him, though?" I ask, knowing that if she seriously wanted to change her way of feeding she would have looked for someone else. Her explanation of how her instinct drives her hunting is the reason for my question.

Bella looks a little surprised, knowing that my question is referring to the fact that it wasn't only the boy's actions that got him killed today.

"He smelled good," is her simple reply. "Healthy," she adds a moment later.

"You can sense the state of an individual's health?" my father asks, intrigued.

"Yeah. And the healthiest people are the most appealing. They make us a bit stronger than those with health issues or really poor diets. It's not a coincidence that joggers go missing at times."

The only sound in the car is my father's sigh. He was expecting an interesting conversation about the different health issues that vampires can detect with their sense of smell. Instead, he got a reason for Bella, or any other vampire, to kill him. Something tells me that he's now decided to stick to indoor gyms for his exercise rather than jogging around Forks—not with a threat so close to us.

"How did you get the boy away from his friends?" I ask to break the silence that that has followed Bella's statement.

"How else does a young girl get a guy away from his friends?"

"I don't know. You're going to have to educate me on this," I say jokingly. I glance to my right and see my father's smirk.

"With promises." Bella winks as she plays along.

"Promises of what?" I ask innocently.

My question is met with a light smack to the back of my head.

"Promises of things you're never going to get if you keep this up," Bella replies.

"Edward," my father says. "In my experience, a threat like that is always to be taken seriously."

"Thanks, Dad. But I really don't want to know about your experiences."

"That's quite unfortunate, Son. I have some good stories to share. For instance, your mother—"

"Do not make me drive this car right into that lake," I interrupt and threaten while pointing at the large, glacial lake that hugs the twists and turns of the 101.

"Lake Crescent..." Bella mutters toward the window.

"Have you not seen the lake in a while?" Carlisle asks.

"Once, a long time ago, but it didn't register as noteworthy. Now, however..."

"You're remembering something?" my dad asks as he shifts in his seat to listen to Bella with fascination.

"Yes. I...I remember kayaking with friends," she says wistfully as the images come to her. I shift uncomfortably, wondering if she's going to recall a memory that I hoped she would regain, but pray that she doesn't say out loud to my father. "We also hiked there. To the falls."

"Anything else?" my dad asks.

I glimpse from the road to see Bella close her eyes and scrunch her face in concentration, like I've seen her do numerous times when she's trying to conjure her memories.

"The restaurant by the dock...we ate there one night. More than once; we went a few times."

"Who's we?" Dad asks, trying to prompt more memories from Bella.

"Edward. Edward took me," she says with her eyes still closed "We could see the sunset in the dip of the mountains right above the water. Oh my God, I can remember exactly what it looked like." Her voice is full of wonder as she's flooded with the beautiful images of one particular evening we were there. The other nights we went, in typical Pacific Northwest fashion, it rained.

"There's something else, but I can't—" She cuts herself off in frustration.

My father, being ever so helpful, says, "Close your eyes again," and Bella complies. "Look at the sunset once more. Where are you seeing it from?"

"Mmm...the dock. We're standing on the dock. No. We're sitting. There's a seat at the end."

"Okay. Now what's to the left of you?"

Bella's face turns to her left slightly while her eyes are still closed in concentration. "Water, because we're at the end of the dock. But also the shore line. There are a few small boats. There are chairs and benches scattered around. There are other people, as well."

"And now to the right of you?" my dad asks, causing Bella's head to turn again.

"More water and a line of kayaks on the shoreline."

"This might be harder, but what's behind you?"

Bella is silent for a few moments before she says, "The restaurant is behind us. The forest,as well. The parking lot is far to the left of the restaurant, though. There are small buildings before the restaurant...cabins! They're small cabins," she says excitedly and opens her eyes. "That's what I couldn't see before."

My father smiles, looking pleased with himself at finding an exercise to help Bella's memories. Carlisle is about to say something when Bella gasps and her eyes open wide.

"You rented one," she says to me as a memory hits her, and my father's eyes shoot to me, as well. "That's right! We went to dinner, walked the shoreline, sat on the dock at sunset, and then...that's when we...we had...a...nice night," she stutters as she remembers the first time we made love, and also realizes who she's about to embarrassingly blab the details to.

"You rented a cabin at Lake Crescent?" my father asks in his intimidating 'dad voice'. My siblings and I tended to spend a lot of time with our significant others, and my parents had strict rules about unsupervised time among us. Incidents, like renting cabins, had to be handled like delicate covert operations.

"Yep," I say without taking my eyes off of the road.

"And when did you do this?" is Carlisle's follow up question.

"When I was supposed to be at Jasper's cousin's graduation party."

"Was this the same night that Emmett's brand new car broke down, and you all had to stay at said cousin's house? Then in the morning Rosalie came to your rescue and magically fixed the problem, and you were all home by lunch?"

"The very same."

"Uncanny. And I do believe that you must be eighteen and have a credit card to rent one of those cabins, as well. You were seventeen."

"Emmett was eighteen. And he had a new Visa burning a hole in his pocket."

"I see. And how many similar...graduation parties did you go to that I don't know about?" His tone is one that always made my heart race and made me fear lying like I would death. My body automatically reacts in a similar way now under the heat of his arched eyebrow.

"You know what? No, this is stupid. I'm twenty three years old. I'm not going to feel badly that my dad just found out that I was having sex in high school. There, I said it. It's out of the bag; we're all adults, and we can move on."

"Just found out?" he asks with amusement. "That's cute, Son."

"You knew?"

"Of course we knew," he says as if it were obvious. "Your mother did your laundry and put your clothes away. You weren't very careful with the things you had 'hidden' in your dresser. And, if there is one thing teenage boys are never smart enough to figure out, it's to change the damn sheets."

"Oh, my God," Bella mutters embarrassedly as she curls into a ball.

"You're going to hell, Dad. I'm sure there's a special spot picked out that's all ready to go, just for you." My father only laughs at my statement.

"Embarrassing your children is one of the biggest joys of parenting. Don't take that away from me in my old age."

"Old age?" I scoff. "You're as healthy as someone in their thirties. You can afford to tone down the embarrassment at any moment."

"I'm sorry. I'll stop now," he promises. But after a few moments of silence he says, "So, let's talk about the book that Bella was excited about when she returned to your apartment this afternoon."

"Seriously?" I ask, as Bella groans at the same time. His behavior is a bit more out of control than normal. But I know that it's only his way of trying to harmlessly use humor to balance the emotional events of the day, so I should cut him some slack.

"What? It was a very...creative book. To be honest, there is something that I always wondered. Were any of Bella's emergency room trips caused by the creative information in that book?"

I want to be angry, and I'm about to reprimand my father again, but I can't help the smile that crosses my face and the small laugh that escapes me. I guess with Bella's track record the likelihood of that scenario is pretty good.

"For your information, no," I answer.

Ignoring my answer and glancing in the passenger side mirror my father asks, "Edward, how fast are you going?"

I look in the rearview mirror just in time to see a police car behind me start flashing the lights atop the vehicle.

"Son of a bitch." My lead foot has been known to get me into trouble here and there.

Bella glances behind us. "Don't you dare pull over," she commands.

"What? I have to."

"We're close to town. Just wait until we get there. Put your hazards on for now," she says with her voice giving a small quiver of panic.

Realizing what could be causing her fear of this situation I look in the rear-view mirror again, now taking notice of the driver of the police car. Then I turn on my hazards just as Bella requested.

"What's wrong?" Carlisle asks as he also looks behind us, following his glance with a groan.

As we approach town Bella instructs, "Turn right there. That building will block his view long enough for me to get out before he makes the turn himself."

I do as instructed and Bella is out of the vehicle within the blink of an eye, before I even have the car stopped, leaving my dad stunned at her ability to move so quickly. "That's incredible," he says with awe.

The police car stops behind us and the officer uncharacteristically gets out of the vehicle right away instead of taking a few minutes to run the license plate.

My nerves are operating on overdrive as he walks up to my open window and places his hand on the top of the car, and I can feel myself start to sweat. I have a lot to hide from him—something that I'm not very good at doing tactfully.

"Chief Swan," I greet.

"Edward. Dr. Cullen," he says in reply and my dad returns the greeting. "Do you usually like to participate in car chases with the police?" he asks me.

"I read on the internet that you should drive to a safe place when being pulled over. You know, to prevent police brutality." In my peripheral vision I can see my dad shake his head in disapproval of my choice of words, although Charlie smirks at my response. He's amused.

"You always tried your best at avoiding...police brutality," Charlie responds carefully. He knew of the delicate state that I was usually in, so he always treaded lightly with me, not wanting to bring up things he assumed might bring on a bad reaction from me. Things like Bella.

"Can you really blame me? If I'm going to be stupid enough to date the police chief's daughter, I better damn well be smart enough to not piss him off," I say, hoping to set him at ease with me. And hopefully making him laugh will get me out of a ticket. It can't hurt to try.

"That's a good way to put it," he says with a low chuckle. "But you failed. You pissed me off on a daily basis. You couldn't help it, though. It wasn't your fault you existed." I saw the regret in his eyes as he said the words. I could tell that he was kicking himself for saying them because he knew that there was a time that I tried to rectify his problem with me.

"Is this how you feel about Jasper?" I ask my father.

"At one time I may have held similar views, yes," he answers.

"Have a daughter some day. You'll understand," Charlie suggests awkwardly. "Do you know why I pulled you over?" he asks, changing the subject and turning on his intimidating police-man persona.

"Because it's nearing the end of the month and you haven't met your quota?" I ask while internally screaming at myself. My nervousness is hindering all of the self control that should be applied to my mouth at the moment.

Charlie leans down so that he can look at Carlisle. "Do you want me to lock him up for the night for you? I'm sure you could use a break."

Carlisle laughs at the Chief's question. "No, that's quite all right. Surprisingly, we like him like this," my father replies, gaining a smirk from the Chief.

"Anyway, Edward, I pulled you over because I recognized your dad's car, and with the way you were handling it I thought it had been stolen."

"I did steal it. This is actually a kidnapping," I say with a smile, again wondering where the off-switch to my mouth is.

"Charlie," Dad interrupts. "I'll be sure to try and re-teach Edward 'appropriate versus inappropriate' public behavior when we get home. But while I have you here, did you get a chance to look over the report I had sent over the other day?"

Charlie glances between me and my father, no doubt curious if Carlisle has divulged anything about the Port Angeles murders to me.

"What report?" I ask to help alleviate Charlie's curiosity.

"Boring work thing," Carlisle answers, and Charlie is appeased.

"I did," the Chief answers. "Unfortunately, there isn't much new information between your report and the report of the last doctor who performed a similar examination. We're hoping that your next...appointment might turn up something useful."

"As am I," Carlisle responds with a practiced professional smile. "Also, Esme would like to have you over for dinner some time soon. A patient of mine gifted me with more venison than we know what to do with. We were thinking about having a get-together on an upcoming Sunday—dinner and a game."

"That sounds good. Let me know."

"Absolutely. I'll talk to you in a few days."

"Yep. Edward, watch your speed," Charlie says, and walks back to his car.

"So, where are you going to get a lot of venison when it's not even deer season yet?" I ask after the Chief makes it back to his vehicle.

"Never you mind. Just be worried about thanking me for getting you out of a ticket, and for getting him out of here quickly. Where do you think Bella went?"

"She's around here somewhere," I say as I pull the car away from the building we were parked next to and make a couple more turns until we're hidden from any bystanders.

It only takes a few moments before Bella is quickly sliding into the back seat.

"Are you okay?" I ask when I notice the ghostly expression on her face.

"Just drive," she says curtly.

My father is the one to break the silence a few minutes later when we're about to turn onto the drive that leads to my parents' secluded house.

"Bella, how are you doing? Really?"

"I'm trying to hold it together," she says with a distraught sigh. "I didn't expect to have to deal with him right now. The whole ride here all I could think of is how well your family will accept me and how I'll keep them safe. I haven't let myself even consider my father. And now I can't not consider it. I miss him so much, but I can't risk his life. All of you are already involved—I can't help that. But I can control what he knows. It just hurts so badly knowing that I can never know him again," Bella explains, her voice shaking.

"Don't lose hope," my dad says. "You said you can figure out a way to keep the Volturi from us, so you might figure out a way for Charlie as well. No one knows what the future holds. You might end up with everything you want. Nothing is set in stone. Well, except the date of death on your headstone. And look," he says gesturing to Bella. "Here you are."

"Only you could make someone feel better while also mentioning their grave..." Bella says with a small smirk, and Carlisle chuckles.

"Earlier he taught me how to open a beer bottle using just a ring," I say, joking at my father's expense, and making Bella laugh.

"Just when I thought you were made completely of class..." Bella says. My father only shrugs in response.

Soon after, the house appears in our view, and Bella leans forward to look out the windshield with a wistful smile on her face.

"I can't believe I'm here," she says quietly.

"Believe it, baby," I say, smiling at her as I park the car.

We all exit the vehicle, my father moving toward the porch. Bella grabs my hand as she stands in front of the three-story home, looking at everything in front of her.

After a few moments of her observation I ask, "Are you ready for this?"

"Yeah," she says without taking her eyes off of the property. "Yeah, I am." Ans she takes a step forward, leading me to the house.

**Thanks for reading!**


End file.
